


Death and rebirth of a dojo (It wasn’t sexual, but it was headed in that direction)

by kdyelo



Series: Secrets exposed [3]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Smut, Whump, lawrusso, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28530468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdyelo/pseuds/kdyelo
Summary: As Johnny and Daniel learn more about the history of Cobra Kai, the implications ripple through their relationship. Together or apart, both must decide how to move forward.For those new to the series, this is a canon-divergent story based on the Karate Kid series of movies, but set in the (near-)present day. In Karate Kid 3, Daniel and Miyagi go their separate ways after Miyagi refuses to train him for the '85 All-Valley. Daniel never goes into the car business, instead working a series of service jobs before buying/managing a bar. Johnny, on the other hand, goes to college on his stepfather's dime, buys and revives Cobra Kai from Terry Silver in 1990, and expands through the valley. Johnny and Daniel subsequently meet... and the rest is fictional history.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Series: Secrets exposed [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058060
Comments: 166
Kudos: 132





	1. Collateral damage

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up immediately after [December (Eight months, LaRusso, it's getting pretty serious) ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28092231/chapters/68827950) in the [Secrets Exposed series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058060). My intent is that can read this on its own. Expect some angst and buckle in for the ride.

Daniel studies his reflection as he brushes his teeth; while he’ll always be slimmer and shorter than Johnny (though not by much), the last six months of teaching and light training has added some lean muscle to his chest and arms, and he has to admit to himself he’s looking pretty good. _Not bad for a guy who is about to turn 49,_ he thinks, though he wishes he’d touched up his roots when he sees the silver strands peeking through at his temples.

Then he notices where Johnny marked him good - again. To top it off, tonight is the busiest night of the year, New Year's Eve, and he is absolutely committed to being there to support his crew. Can he hide the hickey? The bruise mars the delicate skin under his right ear, well outside of the cover of his hair, high enough that a turtleneck might or might not work, if he owned one, which he doesn't. Would a bandaid look ridiculous? Yes, he decides. Maybe Johnny owns a turtleneck? 

He steps away from the mirror and into the walk-in closet that adjoins the bathroom, flipping on the light. Of course, the closet smells like Johnny - his soap, a hint of his aftershave, the undertone of his sweat - and _that_ brings to mind a multisensory memory from early that very morning. Johnny pressing him tightly against his broad chest, slick with their combined sweat, murmuring in his ear as he moves underneath him; letting his head roll back against Johnny’s strong shoulder because when Johnny takes control, he's just along for the ride; the tears that blur his vision as he's physically and emotionally overwhelmed... The memory makes Daniel feel tingly, warm and _hard_ , which makes him conscious of his body’s pleasurable soreness, which raises a hot flush to his face.

And, he told Johnny he loves him. And Johnny said it right back, looking at him with his earnest blue eyes. He already knew they were in love, sure, their rightness together is undeniable. They just fit. But declaring it, hearing it said out loud, somehow, that’s different - it feels new and precious.

In contrast to all _that_ , the clothing selection in Johnny's closet is uninspiring. More button-down shirts than any one man should own, and a handful of stodgy blazers and sportcoats, hung next to suit pants and dark jeans that looks suspiciously pressed; a couple of lightweight crewneck sweaters; vintage concert t-shirts on padded hangers - Johnny isn't one of those guys who tries to emulate Steve Jobs’ Silicon Valley look because there isn't a single turtleneck in evidence.

Well. He'll just have to live with the hickey. And the bar is pretty dimly lit.

There’s another, less titillating result of their morning tryst - his knee fucking _hurts_ after being bent under his weight at an acute angle for, well, long enough. It might have worked itself out if he’d kept it moving, warmed it or iced it - whatever you’re supposed to do with a sore knee, he always forgets, and none of it ever really works anyway - but instead, they had a leisurely brunch on the patio in the chill air, sitting in those low chairs. Now the joint that had never properly healed back in the eighties is seized up and stiff, throbbing painfully when he puts any weight on it. He uses his right leg to support his weight now while he gingerly flexes and straightens the left one - not good, especially tonight.

He has a bottle of prescription oxycodone in his medicine cabinet for those times when the pain gets bad; he dry-swallows one standing at the bathroom sink, then after a moment of consideration he follows it with another before tucking the bottle into the messenger bag Johnny affectionately terms his ‘man-purse’. He also lays what he’s going to wear on the bed - his most comfortable jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a worn, soft black sweater. An extra pair of jeans and a spare shirt also go in the bag in case someone spills or vomits on him. 

Then he takes a nice, long, hot shower; how he loves the tankless water heater in Johnny’s condo. He’s not sure how he ever lived without one in his old place in Reseda.

After, wet-haired and drowsy as the oxy starts to kick in, he limps into the kitchen with a towel around his waist, prepping a fresh pot of coffee and setting out his largest travel mug because the long night ahead is going to require serious and sustained caffeine ingestion. In the safety net of the oxy, he finds himself cautiously moving the joint to see if it still hurts, and if so how badly... 

Johnny’s voice startles him. "What’s going on with your leg?"

 _Shit, didn’t even hear the door open._ He turns to face his partner in the doorway between the living room and kitchen and attempts to deflect - as though that ever works with Johnny once the man is fixated on something. “Thought you were still out on your run.”

“Just finished. What’s wrong with it?” Johnny’s dabbing at his face with a towel, hair damp with sweat and sand on his shins from his usual morning run on the beach. His clear eyes study Daniel’s pained posture, and a concerned little line appears between his blond brows. 

“It’s fine, it’ll work itself out.”

"Oh for fuck's sake. Let me look." Johnny quickly closes the distance between them and picks him up in a bridal carry. Daniel can't help it; he squeals like a little girl as he’s toted into the living room and unceremoniously deposited on the sofa flat on his back. On the positive side, it’s hot when Johnny just hoists him up like this, hauls him around like it’s nothing - the man doesn’t even strain under his weight.

"I’m ok," Daniel insists, not wanting to cause a fuss today of all days. He pushes himself to a seated position, but as soon as he bends his legs towards the floor, pain cuts through the haze of the pain pills and drives through his left knee like butter. He blanches. "Yeah, all right."

"It’s swollen. Is this from this morning?" When Daniel shrugs, he looks _pissed_. "Fuck. Why didn’t you say something?” he growls.

“It didn’t hurt at the time,” Daniel tells him, and he can’t restrain a saucy little grin. He’s _definitely_ feeling the oxy now. “Hey, I was distracted. Started after.”

“You took one of your pills.”

It frustrates Johnny when he resorts to the prescription pills, more often than not taking it as an invitation to harangue Daniel to _get it looked at, babe, see if something can be done to help you._ He vaguely intends to have it looked at, sure, one day when he has the time and the extra funds to pay some guy with an MD after his name to tell him he’s thirty years too late to fix it properly, or worse, that he needs surgery he can’t afford that his crappy insurance will disqualify as elective. He knows how this goes.

“I took two, and I’ll take another one once I’m there. It will be fine.”

“Asshole,” Johnny says tenderly as he sits next to him, lifts his legs and rests them on his lap. He rubs his hands together briskly, seizes the knee in hands so hot they're nearly painful on his skin, and digs his thumbs deeply into his tendons. The combination of pain and relief is nearly orgasmic, and not just because of the physical sensation itself; it also does something to him emotionally when Johnny takes care of him like this. 

“Fuck,” Daniel groans, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the arm of the leather sofa. “You’re so good to me.”

Johnny huffs. “You bet your sweet ass I am. You know two of those things always knock you out.”

After a while, Johnny releases his leg from his iron grip. There’s still pain somewhere behind the fuzzy wall the oxy has put up in his brain, but less than before, and his entire body feels loose and relaxed. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“Secret sensei knowledge,” Johnny tells him. “We should get this looked at by a doctor. Get you fixed up once and for all.”

“Can’t. S’okay.” Daniel knows he’s slurring a little, so he makes an effort to sober up. _Straighten up, LaRusso._

Johnny is twisting his face guiltily the way he does whenever this topic of conversation comes up. Daniel’s forgiven him over and over in his thoughts and his words - it was mostly Bobby anyway, and they both had a very bad teacher, the worst kind of teacher a student could have, and no one can argue with the fact Johnny has more than atoned for it since then.

“I should have been more careful this morning,” Johnny says under his breath.

Oh, but that brings to mind something else he very much wants Johnny to know - he absolutely does _not_ want him to be careful with him. To the contrary, in fact. “It was worth it. This morning. The things you do to me. So good. I like when you take control.”

Johnny hums and studies him skeptically. “Do you think you can take a nap? Gonna be a long night tonight.”

“Yeah,” Daniel says, already sleepy. “I need to be up before five. Okay?”

“Okay.”


	2. New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy business of celebrating the new year at Daniel's bar. Johnny pitches in to help and learns that partying all night is not at all the same as working the party all night; Daniel contemplates all of the great changes the year has brought.

It’s not yet dark when he awakens, but the quality of the light through the sliding glass doors tells him sunset is near. He feels Johnny’s body heat close behind him, where he’s holding him and snoring gently, and his head is pounding beneath a layer of fuzz. 

He turns over a little gingerly to wake Johnny with a shake. “Baby, I gotta finish getting ready,” he says, reluctantly because he would much rather stay right where he is. “Can you drive me?”

Johnny drowsily looks back at him. “I’m going in with you. You’re not in any shape, so just point me where you need me to go. Okay?”

The way his head is swimming, he’s going to need all the help he can get. He cradles Johnny’s stubbled jaw in his hand and half-smiles, half-grimaces. “Okay. Thank you. Listen, earlier, I was a little out of it-”

“Don’t make it a thing,” Johnny looks at him for a moment, straight-faced, before breaking into a teasing grin. “I like it too.”

Daniel blushes with what feels like the heat of a thousand suns, even as he feels an answering grin stretch across his face. “Okay then. Uh, I gotta change. And make some coffee for both of us.” 

When he stands, a little wobbly, he notices Johnny’s wrapped his knee with a stretchy athletic support bandage, and there are two bags of formerly-frozen peas in the crevice of the sofa cushions. He was clearly passed out cold through all of it. He picks up the two bags on his way to the kitchen and is surprised at how much better his knee feels - it’s not 100%, and he’ll have to watch how much stress he puts on it over the course of the night, but it bears weight and he can move it freely. Still, he takes four Advil and checks again to make sure the bottle of oxy is still in his bag.

A long night unfurls before them both; he brews the coffee extra strong and sets out a second travel mug before joining Johnny in their bedroom to change. 

While he stands at the bathroom mirror, inspecting himself and trying to decide whether or not to shave, Johnny appears at his shoulder with a wolfish smile. “Shave, spare me the stubble burn.” He himself picks up the can of shaving cream and starts lathering up. “Fair is fair.”

He sighs and lathers up. “Thanks for this, by the way,” he says, pointing at the hickey on his neck.

“Just making sure all the other guys and girls know you’re taken for new year’s.” The asshole is beaming at him, quite pleased with himself. “Besides, you know you love it.”

Daniel will never admit it, but he does.

Before he finishes dressing, he texts Laura to see what last-minute items she needs him to pick up. Quickly, she fires him a list of several things, most of which will need to come from either a home supply or office supply store, plus a few grocery items. “Got it,” he texts back, and warns Johnny, “I hope you’re ready for this. Wear sturdy shoes.”

Johnny stands before him, looking comfortable yet dashing in black and denim, which happens to match Daniel’s own look, and rolls his eyes. “Jesus, dude. You act like I’ve never pulled a long night before. I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Daniel answers skeptically, knowing from experience there’s a big difference between partying all night and working the party all night.

They make several stops in the truck, Johnny in the driver’s seat, picking up extra toilet paper and paper towels; olives, cherries and celery; and a large hors d'oeuvres tray Daniel preordered days before.

“What’s that for?” Johnny asks.

“The staff,” Daniel answers. “I set up a table in the back for them every holiday. Food and nonalcoholic drinks.” He’s also picked up a few bags of miniature chocolates and two dozen donuts.

“Such a good boss,” Johnny compliments him.

“Self-preservation. You don’t want this crew to turn on you. They can be savage.”

They arrive at the back door of the bar at 6:15, well before any crowd, but some of his folks have been there since 4 to set up. Laura leaves the holiday lights up through the new year, giving the room a warm glow, and boxes of party hats and noisemakers are staged just inside the doors to the kitchen. He notices they haven‘t yet prepped the pre-mixed punch or staged the plastic champagne flutes they’ll use for the toast - but first and foremost, he needs to feed the crew. Over Johnny’s objections, Daniel starts setting up the food table for the staff - if his folks aren’t well-fed, hydrated and happy, he knows they’re all gonna have a bad time.

They kick off the night with a round of whiskey shots, assembling in a loose circle in the space where the band usually sets up to clink their shot glasses - only real glass for this, Daniel insists - as he delivers the toast: "Be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let every new year find you a better man… or woman. Whatever. You guys know what I mean." They laugh, throw back their drinks, and share convivial hugs and back slaps; to Johnny, standing off to the side, they look like a big, happy family with Daniel acting the paterfamilia at the center, dimple-cheeked and glowing.

Daniel spots Laura breaking free of the crew to greet Johnny with a hug; he follows and reaches them just in time to hear Johnny telling Laura that he, Daniel, needs to stay off his feet as much as possible. Laura pivots to glare at him: “What? You’re gimped up? Tonight?”

“I’m fine,” he objects. “I’m managing it. Johnny’s helping out.”

She ignores him and looks at Johnny, who explains with a shrug and two whispered words: “sex injury.”

Daniel groans. “It was not! And, inappropriate, Johnny.”

“TMI, don’t want to know,” Laura agrees vehemently; Johnny has the grace to look ashamed. “All right, bossman, can you go check the social media accounts, field any questions? Johnny will help me prep the punch.”

He recognizes when Laura’s managing him. “All right,” he agrees, then directs a warning at Johnny. “Be serious, this is a workplace!” Johnny grins at him from behind Laura, waggling his eyebrows infuriatingly.

In his cluttered little office off the kitchen, he drags the second chair around to his side of the desk so he can elevate his left leg while he checks and answers their email, facebook and instagram correspondence, and posts a pre-written blog entry to their website. He’s both relieved and a little disappointed that all of the shitposting from earlier that year has died down; once he’d gotten over his own discomfort with the notoriety, he’d enjoyed the memes and jokes, even left some of them up and downloaded a few for posterity. He also pays some invoices and gets a start on payroll for Laura.

What a difference the year has made, he thinks. This time last year, he’d just returned from visiting his mother in Newark, and he was struggling to make personal ends meet after the cash outlay for the airfare even as the business became healthier month by month. He was working long, late nights almost every night and developing a nice little alcohol dependency as an escape from his mind-numbing routine. His mother had asked him if he was taking care of himself, getting any exercise, was he dating anyone, was he getting out there - at the time, he’d just wanted her to leave him alone. “Drop it, ma, I’m doing the best I can,” he’d finally barked at her, then felt immediately guilty when her eyes teared up and her chin crumpled. Hadn’t he disappointed her enough already?

Now, thanks to Johnny (and himself, he knows, it’s not all Johnny, he’s also worked hard to pull his proverbial shit together), he’s happier than he’s ever been, in better shape, working sane hours, eating well, in a relationship and having the best sex of his life... He’s still grinning to himself when Johnny himself cracks open the door.

“Hey babe, band’s here, I have no idea how to help them set up. Want me to tote you out there?” This is said with a teasing, blue-eyed sparkle, and Daniel can’t help but grin back at him.

“I can walk,” he insists, proving it by standing up.

“What were you smiling about in here, anyway?” Johnny asks him curiously.

“Just you.” He gives Johnny’s shoulder a little squeeze as he follows him through the door between the kitchen and the main floor.

The night is no more eventful than it usually is on New Year’s Eve. Johnny curiously watched him get the band set up until Laura corralled him into her lingering to-do list; Daniel took one more oxy around 8pm, enough to carry him through the night in relative comfort. He was only called upon twice to act the heavy; once to intervene in a verbal conflict between two twenty-somethings before it turned into a fight, and one other time to eject an older man who had become verbally combative with one of his bartenders. That one took some doing; the man had illusions of being a badass and, fooled by Daniel’s deceptively modest appearance, squared off with him. Daniel was able to get him in a hold and under control without drawing notice from anyone other than the men immediately to either side, and got him moved across the floor and out the front door fairly quietly.

Johnny saw just the tail end of that from the other side of the room and cornered him afterwards: “You’re supposed to take it easy. Why don’t you let me handle stuff like that tonight?”

“No time,” Daniel explained. “I know the tells. Had to be dealt with quickly.”

Johnny could only shrug and determine to keep a closer watch on the crowd himself - but he just doesn’t have the experience; he can’t spot the body language that tells Daniel which situations need his attention.

Johnny finds him again a few minutes ahead of midnight; Daniel’s on his second wind, buoyed by the large crowd, cushioned by the oxy and the caffeine, and is busily handing out the last of the little noisemakers. He laughs openly when he spots Johnny approaching with two little plastic flutes of champagne to press one into his hand for the countdown.

“Are you ready for this?” Johnny shouts over the racket of the band and the televised count that’s being echoed, loudly, by most of the revelers. His eyes are shining under all of the holiday string lights and his bright blond hair is loose over his forehead.

“Fuck yes,” Daniel shouts back. He wraps his free hand around Johnny’s back, under his shirt, pulls him close and leans in to bite gently at his earlobe with his teeth, gratified to see the answering flush climb Johnny’s pale neck.

The countdown crawls towards zero; Johnny leans down and presses his mouth to his own, encouraging him to open up with a teasing nip to his lower lip. Daniel leans against him and they laugh into each other's mouths as the clock strikes midnight. Their kiss thankfully doesn’t draw attention in this rowdy crowd, and they feel in a world unto themselves, at least for that moment. First and foremost in Daniel’s mind as the new year begins is how _very lucky_ he is to have found Johnny.

By 1, the crowd is thinning. 1:30 is last call; at 2am, Laura turns up the lights and ushers the final die-hards out the door. Daniel starts to run out of steam; the last oxy is wearing off, his knee is throbbing, and his queasy stomach tells him it’s best not to take another. Johnny firmly encourages him to sit while he works alongside Laura, Mei and the others to pick up the dirty glassware and the trash, wipe down the bar and tables, get the floor swept (mopping is a bridge too far for anyone tonight ), and wrap up or dispose of the leftover food on the staff table. They send the last of the staff home at 2:30; Laura locks up behind them at 3am.

“Long shift for you tonight, my friend; Daniel owes you some overtime,” she teases Johnny lightly. “Seriously, thank you for helping out. You guys… you’re just the best.” Daniel is surprised to see her look weepy - stoic Laura, getting sentimental?

“I owe you both the world,” Daniel tells her warmly; _oh hell, now he’s getting sappy, too_. “You have no idea how much you’ve done for me this year.”

“Oh, I have _some_ idea,” she reminds him with a wink. And she’s right; without her, his life might be in a very different place than it is tonight. “Happy new year, boss.”


	3. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With their students' karate tournaments coming up in January and February of the new year, Johnny questions whether Daniel is ready to be matchside again. The discussion takes them to an uncomfortable place.

Johnny drove them home in the Tacoma, exhausted, with Daniel forcing himself to stay awake enough to keep Johnny alert for the drive. Once through their own front door, Daniel had gently redirected Johnny away from the bed towards the shower. “Babe, you’ll be sorry if you get into bed with the bar still on you.” Although they didn’t usually shower together, last night, out of expedience, they did, and it was utterly _un_ romantic.

Daniel’s the first awake on the first morning of the new year; quietly as he can, he gets the coffee started, takes some Advil, and gets himself settled at one end of the sofa with the television remote control, his left leg propped on the sofa table and the knee iced. Both he and Johnny return to work as usual tomorrow, Tuesday, so today will need to be a day to rest and recover. He queues up a morning news channel for background noise, volume on low, and reads the news on Johnny’s ipad.

Two hours later, around 11am, Johnny finally emerges from the bedroom with puffy eyes, dark circles, and an unsteady gait. “Christ, LaRusso, I don’t know how you did this night after night.”

“Gotta be tough. How did you think I kept my boyish figure?” he smirks. “Seriously, though. Thank you. Last night would have been really tough without you. I’m sorry you had to pull such a late night.”

“I owe you,” Johnny says with a nod to his leg as he settles in next to him with his laptop and a coffee mug of his own.

“You don’t owe me. Whatcha workin’ on?” Johnny’s waking up the laptop; his curiosity compels him to peer over Johnny’s arm when he sees him launch a complex-looking Excel spreadsheet. “Looks like a schedule,” he observes, because it reminds him of the workforce scheduling app at the bar.

Johnny suddenly looks guarded. “I’m drafting a combined schedule - training sessions and competitions. Thinking of taking Aisha and some of the others to some of the smaller opens this month before the All-Valley and state competitions in February. It’s a little tricky, want to make sure I’m giving all the students enough of my time _and_ be present for all of the matches. I’m thinking about pulling Aisha and having her cover some of the qualifying matches, but then she can’t compete. It will break her heart but I haven’t found another way.”

Daniel puzzles over this - why does Johnny need a third person helping with the matches? “What do you need Aisha to do? You and I can cover it.”

Johnny squares his shoulders - clearly this is a discussion he’s been planning to have with Daniel. "I think it's a bad idea for you to be matchside. Too much, too fast."

 _What the hell?_ “You don’t think I can help you at competition? Is that what you’re telling me right now? Why would you think that?” he demands indignantly.

Johnny shifts uncomfortably. "When it comes up, you freeze up. Brent asked us about it the other day, and you had to walk away. That’s why."

"I just wasn’t expecting him to-” but that's a lie, he knew what Brent wanted to ask them about, “-okay, fine, I could have handled that better. But I _know_ it’s different now," he says with an edge in his tone. "That stuff doesn’t matter. I can do this - I can help you.”

Johnny counters, "That stuff does matter. You can’t even talk about ‘85. How will you handle the crowd, the lights, the sounds? It's intense for _me_."

The obvious implication stings - even Johnny, with all of his stability and balance, finds the environment challenging; how will fragile, screwed-up Daniel ever manage it? Well, Daniel made it through shit Johnny never had to face, that's how. If Johnny thinks talking about it proves he can handle it, he can do that much.

"Fine. Fire away. What do you want to know?" Daniel challenges him.

“Come on, it’s not a dare,” Johnny protests. “Let’s drop it.”

“No, I don’t want to drop it.”

Johnny slams the laptop shut, making Daniel wince, and pivots to face him directly. “Ok. Fine. I saw your match with Mike Barnes.”

"You told me yourself you weren't there."

A defensive expression flashes briefly across Johnny’s face, quickly replaced by sadness. "LaRusso. They film the matches. That year was used as evidence for the lifetime ban of Cobra Kai. It's in the karate association records.”

Daniel pauses as fragmented memories cycle through his mind: Barnes completely in control of the match, coming after him over and over, inflicting damage and gaining a point, also taking penalty points but never enough to lose or be disqualified. The sour smell of his sweat, and Mike's. The roar of the spectators under the glare of the lights. Terry Silver's taunts from the sidelines - Terry, who groomed him, gaslit him, then violently turned on him days before the match. 

"I never would have wanted you to see that," he protests. "You know I didn't want to be there. It was none of your business."

Johnny grits his response through clenched teeth. "None of my business? What the fuck. You started this. And why wasn't the old man there?”

“Miyagi wouldn't train me for that. 'Karate not for winning trophies', he told me. But I couldn't get out of it. I had to take whatever training I could get. That's when Terry conveniently showed up.”

Johnny narrows his eyes. “You and he didn’t speak for years. Because you trained with someone else?”

Oh, that's where his shame kicks in, because it wasn't as simple as his sensei disagreeing with tournament fighting or being insulted that Daniel went elsewhere. 

"It wasn’t that, not really. Mr. Miyagi didn't like who I became. You didn't know Terry’s methods, but you knew Kreese, and Kreese was his teacher. He was brutal, but he got results. I felt strong. Powerful. Unstoppable."

Johnny nods slowly. "I think I understand. Training with Kreese felt that way to me. Especially when I was winning, I would have done anything to keep winning. It was badass."

"I remember," Daniel says, and he even smiles a little, thinking back to Johnny’s fierce younger self. “Problem was, I also became arrogant, aggressive, volatile. I broke off with Terry before the tournament in ‘85, but by then, Mr. Miyagi and I… He'd lost the business, sold his truck, spent every penny he had after what Barnes and his buddies did to the shop. We were already on shaky ground by then, I’d been in full-on asshole mode for weeks, and by the end I couldn't handle the guilt of everything I’d caused. I left. That was it.”

“There was more,” Johnny says hesitantly, watching him closely. “Terry was backing the other guy. Barnes, right? But he was right there with you the whole time, all up in your space. What was that about?”

How would it have seemed to Johnny, watching the grainy old video? He forces himself to ask, with real curiosity. “What did it look like to you?”

Johnny struggles to describe it. “He looked like he was trying to intimidate you. I mean, I get that, it’s what they wanted, right? For Barnes to win back the title from you and restore the good name of Cobra Kai. But it looked… weird.” He’s obviously struggling to put it into words. “Like - I don’t know. Too close. Possessive? A little crazy?“

So the video captured some of it, then. Daniel has tried not to think about this for a long time; doing so now, his gut twists anxiously.

“Um. Yeah, there’s more there. How much time did you spend with Terry when you bought the business?"

"Not much. Family lawyer handled most of it."

"Family lawyer? Get a load of this guy," Daniel mocks with his particular Italian flavor, rolling his eyes, and Johnny’s mouth twitches in amusement. "Okay. Was Terry working directly with students? Were there complaints? Rumors?" He feels his chest and neck redden in embarrassment.

Johnny looks thoughtfully at his laptop. "No complaints," he says finally, "but there were unexplained expenditures. A lot of them. The lawyer thought it was weird, but no one was talking. $100s here and there - and a few bigger ones, in the tens of thousands." He looks up at Daniel and blanches. "Wait, what are you telling me?"

Daniel hesitates. No longer able to meet Johnny’s eyes, he stares at the muted television for a long moment. 

"It wasn't, uh, what you’re thinking. Sexual. Not yet. He was steering it that way though. He would, ah, get very close. Touch inappropriately. Say weird things. I don’t know what I thought at the time, I was pretty scrambled up myself. Much later, I wondered if it was just part of his game with me, or if that was, uh, a thing he did. With other students over the years." 

To a young, inexperienced Daniel, Terry was very compelling; tall, mysterious, intimidating, and powerful. Daniel was on his own, vulnerable, ripe for manipulation - an easy mark. There was something off about their interactions from day one; he remembers his flustered confusion every time Terry put his hands on Daniel’s waist to position his body, or when he would stand behind him, hips pressed tightly against his own and his breath hot in his ear, to correct his stance. This, combined with all of the pain, the blood, and the adrenaline, was intense. Every training session felt good and hurt all at once.

 _No wonder I'm so fucked up._ He pushes that thought to the back of his mind and forces himself to continue, arms folded tightly against his chest. Next to him, Johnny is silent and still.

"When I told him I didn’t want to train with him any more, he turned on me, told me about some ridiculous plot they’d come up with to avenge John Kreese. I told them they were nuts. All three of them - Terry, Mike, and Kreese - beat the shit out of me right there in the dojo. At the tournament, what you saw was Terry threatening me every chance he got while Mike kicked my ass up and down the mat. It was fucked up. You saw the referees and judges - no one stopped it. It went on and on. It felt like it would never end.”

He prevailed in the end, but it was through luck, not skill. In his panic and desperation, he fell back to katas familiar to him but not to Mike; mercifully it was enough to distract his opponent from his sadistic assault, giving Daniel the opening he needed to win.

Finally, he forces himself to glance over to Johnny to see his reaction. When he sees the queasy look on the other man’s face, he wishes he hadn’t, and quickly returns his gaze to the muted television. “Do you understand why I reacted the way I did, that first night when you told me you’d revived Cobra Kai? It was like a nightmare coming to life. I thought you must be working with them.”

His boyfriend wraps an arm around him and pulls him against his body, his embrace uncomfortably tight. “Hey. You didn’t ask for any of that. It wasn’t your fault. And Miyagi was supposed to be your guardian.”

Daniel isn’t sure what to say either. He feels like he’s on an emotional rollercoaster, embarrassed he fell prey to the manipulation, angry he’s having to relive it, and disgusted any of it happened at all. “And now you can’t trust me to keep my shit together.” He says this with an edge; what follows is softer. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know.”

He feels Johnny go rigid. “LaRusso, Jesus. I trust you. It’s not about that. I don’t want to be responsible for pushing you into something you’re not ready for. Listen, if you want to do it, I’ll be there with you. You know that, right?”

Daniel softens and leans into him, but doesn’t reply. His thoughts are swirling around the question, _could Johnny be right? Could this be too much for me to handle?_

Johnny murmurs, “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

He decides: he owes it to them both to try.

...

That night, Daniel reaches out to Johnny in the dark; his boyfriend folds him into an affectionate, protective hug and retreats into sleep.


	4. Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny lays down the law at the dojo, with some surprises. Daniel struggles with his evolving role as teacher, and grows concerned about the direction his relationship with Johnny seems to be heading.

The normal practice schedule for the older kids is every Wednesday and Friday after school, then the Sunday afternoon session. Johnny and Daniel decide to stand up an additional, extended Monday session just for the six older teens who are competing this year, leaving Tuesdays, Thursdays, and the early Sunday afternoon session for the younger kids. They dedicate the first Monday session to a detailed review of competition rules; Johnny has even printed the rules for each kid, along with some additional rules of his own, and all of this plus the schedule itself comprise several stapled pages.

Aisha and Kev are the first to arrive for the first Monday class; while Kev starts setting up the mats in the practice area, Johnny calls Aisha into his office. Daniel is already inside, standing with his back to the wall opposite the door as is his habit, and notices the strong-looking girl is visibly surprised to see him there.

“Aisha, I have good news,” Johnny begins once he closes the door behind them. The small office feels a little crowded with all three of them in there, standing awkwardly around the desk. “Sensei LaRusso is going to cover the first few matches with me. That leaves you free to compete in the qualifiers.”

Daniel startles at Johnny’s use of the title ‘sensei’ before his name; he’s startled a second time by Aisha’s exuberant response. The girl’s dark brown eyes shine and her face cracks into an enormous, unrestrained grin, then she bounces over, narrowly avoiding hip-checking the desk, to hug Daniel enthusiastically enough to squeeze the breath right out of his ribcage. Hesitantly, he pats her back one-handed.

“Thank you! Thank you, sensei! I was so afraid I wouldn’t be able to-“

“Quiet!” Johnny barks, and his voice makes Aisha jump. To Daniel’s hearty embarrassment, he also flinches; thankfully Johnny doesn’t notice. “Aisha, calm yourself.”

She steps back, putting a pace between her and Daniel, but fails to suppress her grin. “Sorry, sensei. Uh, senseis. Yes sir.”

Johnny relents and offers her a little smile and a pat on the shoulder as he motions her out, but before she leaves, she hesitates and asks, “Sensei, what about after the first few matches?”

Daniel raises an eyebrow at Johnny, who answers with a noncommittal, “We’ll see.”

She closes the door gently behind her, but the barrier isn’t thick enough to buffer her high-pitched ‘squee’ once she thinks she’s in the clear. Johnny rolls his eyes in mock disgust.

“‘Sensei’,” Daniel comments drily. “According to whom?”

“‘According to whom?’ According to me. My school, my rules. Kind of like Miyagi and your fake black belt back in the day.”

“What do you mean, ‘fake’-“

“Also, you’re wearing the gi. Ordered you one in your size.”

“Ugh, not the sleeveless-“

“Yep. And you’re gonna look _badass_. My school, my-“

“Yeah, yeah, your rules, I got it.” He wonders if he looks as grim as he feels.

Their students maintain discipline pretty well through the lengthy lecture on rules, traditions and competition decorum - better than Daniel thinks he would have at their age, because he had no patience whatsoever - but the Q&A is trickier. Teenagers ask some of the smartest questions, and some of the most ridiculous, and they’re all mixed in together. Jake wants to know if there’s a medic present (“yes, always”); Aisha wants to know if a female has ever won at state (yes, once, in 2013, and several have made the final round); Kev wants to know if they have to mop blood off the mats between matches (“not unless we get a bleeder”).

Hawk, still on Johnny’s shit list after the trouble between him and Aisha that spring, raises his hand. “I can keep my mohawk, right?”

Johnny shakes his head; Daniel knows he'd anticipated Hawk's question and already went to the trouble of finding out. “No rules against mohawks, but I expect they’ll write one after they get a look at yours.” 

“Yes,” he hisses triumphantly, pumping one scrawny fist in the air. Aisha rolls her eyes. _No love lost there,_ Daniel observes, and wonders if he’s seeing the next rivalry in the making. 

There is time remaining for just a couple of practice matches before parents start arriving for pickup; all in all, Johnny tells him after class, the evening went exactly as he hoped, and he feels like the kids are well-positioned for the first local open over at Valley high the very next Saturday.

“Yep, went well,” Daniel agrees quickly, then gulps and calls, “be right back-“ as he dashes through the office door, heading for the bathroom. Johnny chases closely after him, propelled by the sound of vomiting, and finds him on his knees on the (mercifully clean) tile floor in one of the stalls, hugging the porcelain and loudly losing his lunch. He wets a few paper towels and holds them against Daniel’s forehead with one hand, rubbing his back with the other until his heaves finally stop.

“Fuck. I’m all right,” he gasps, frustratedly wiping at his eyes because they always water when he throws up and he doesn’t want Johnny to get the wrong idea about it. “You know I did this before every match? Except Okinawa. Nowhere to puke.”

Sounds like a story for another day. Johnny hits the flush lever and tips his head gently against Daniel’s. “It’s okay.”

...

That night, like the last several nights, Johnny doesn’t initiate or respond to Daniel’s overtures. Every morning, Johnny is the first to wake, and he doesn’t wake Daniel before he rushes off to the office.

…

Tuesday morning after Johnny leaves for work, Daniel cleans up and drives over to Miyagi’s neighborhood for a visit. His old sensei lives in a retirement community made up of what his ma would call ‘cluster homes’, single-floor units sharing walls like a townhouse or a rowhouse, several of these clustered around a multistory building inhabited by residents who need more assistance. It’s a nice place - Daniel has visited several times in the months since they reconnected, always by himself - and the older man has the space for an Okinawan-style garden with a few large stones and a small pond.

It’s in the garden that Daniel finds Mr. Miyagi now, wearing a Hawaiian-patterned shirt and faded hiking pants with zip-off legs, and puttering around with a hand shovel and a bag of soil. Always a small man, in his advanced years he is even shorter than he was in the eighties when teenaged Daniel towered over him. Thankfully his health and mobility are intact, the legacy of his lifetime of movement and conditioning; Daniel can only hope he and Johnny weather their later years half as well as the old man has.

“Heyyy, Mr. Miyagi,” he calls.

Daniel can see he’s repotting a small tree - perhaps one bound to be trained into a bonsai. Miyagi grunts by way of greeting and waves him over impatiently. “Daniel-san, come, get the pot.” Daniel obliges and lifts the larger pot to the little worktable, where Miyagi scoops in some soil, then positions the tree, indicating again for Daniel to assist. While he holds the tree in place, Miyagi adds layer after layer of soil, rock, and sand, compressing the material as he goes to support the roots. It all takes longer than it could, but Daniel doesn’t mind.

He’s not even sure why he’s here, much less how to start, so he opts to just enjoy the sun and the fresh, cool January air. He could probably use some advice; he definitely needs a friend and he always finds comfort and calm in Miyagi’s presence.

Miyagi is the one who breaks into the silence. “Daniel-san, how is training?”

“Students are doing well,” he hedges. “A few of them are ready to compete this year.” He looks cautiously at the old man’s expression, wary of his low opinion of ‘karate for trophies’.

The old man surprises him. “Good. Learn to face fear.”

“I didn’t expect you to say that,” he says. “I thought you wouldn’t approve.”

“Just because old man, doesn’t mean stop learning.”

“Aww, Mr. Miyagi,” he says, allowing a little bit of a teasing note into his tone, “when I was a kid, I thought you knew everything. You always had all the answers.” This last is wistful because he wishes he had all the answers now; instead, it feels like he only has more doubt.

His sensei takes a seat on a concrete bench and pats the open space beside him in an invitation Daniel gladly accepts. “Glad it seem that way. Often, did not. Try anyway. Sometimes make mistake.”

Daniel wonders what those might have been, but decides it’s best not to ask; let Mr. Miyagi share or not as he sees fit. He thinks about everything the old man lived through in his long life - estrangement from his father and village, the war, the internment camp, the loss of his young family and, later, his home - and his worries pale in comparison. 

He wants to ask his teacher, how can I presume to teach anyone? How do I know if I am worthy? Do you approve of who I am now? But it all seems so self-involved and unimportant; he can’t bear to ask.

“How did you-” he waves his hand vaguely in the air, indicating life, he supposes, “-keep moving forward? When the going got tough?”

Miyagi studies him closely for a moment with his piercing, perceptive eyes, then shrugs. “Beats the alternative.”

Hard to argue with that.

…

Tuesday nights are always quiet nights at the bar, even more so coming off the holiday season when folks are celebrated-out and maybe, in some cases, spent-out. They’ve long since taken down and stored away the twinkly Christmas lights and garlands; in comparison, the room looks a little sad and dim, and Daniel wonders if they shouldn’t put up some more-permanent cafe lighting, some of those Edison bulbs that are so in vogue right now. With Valentine’s Day weeks away, they might even lend a bit of a romantic glow to the place. 

When he consults with Laura about the idea, she shrugs. “Let’s give it a week or two for the doldrums to fade, then decide.”

They’ve been able to give most of the staff some time off to recover while he, Laura, and two guys in the kitchen are able to keep the place running, at least on weeknights. It’s also a good time for Daniel to connect with his accountant to go over the books and receipts and start prepping for tax time; he passes the evening in this way until 11pm when the lack of clientele prompts them to close up early.

His thoughts about Valentine’s Day prompt him into the realization that while Laura knows everything - maybe even a little too much - about his love life, he knows nothing about her personal situation. He’s never asked, and she’s never volunteered. Now curious, he asks her if she has plans for Valentine’s.

“Sure, boss, my plans are to serve champagne to all the lovebirds in this place and rake in the tips.”

He raises an inquiring eyebrow at her; she winks back with the unenlightening reply, “I save my plans for my days off.”

He shrugs as they lock up; maybe Johnny will still be awake when he gets home. He hopes so, because good God, he hasn’t had any action in days and it’s starting to make him question if he’s losing his touch.

He knows he’s in luck when he opens the door to the condo; the lights are on, as is the television, and Johnny is settled comfortably into the couch in his boxers and a tshirt, working on something on his laptop and drinking what could be a seltzer or a gin-and-tonic. Daniel takes a moment there in the doorway to appreciate the man’s broad shoulders, accented nicely by the thin t-shirt he’s wearing, and the fine dusting of golden hairs on his well-muscled thighs.

Johnny finally looks up at him with that blue-eyed gaze and gives him a slightly-bleary smile. “Babe, home early tonight.”

“Quiet night at the bar, we closed up early,” Daniel confirms, settling in next to him and leaning in to nip at his neck. Gratifyingly, Johnny responds, setting his laptop on the table (though leaving it open) and reaching over to pull him in for a kiss. Then, less gratifyingly, he turns back towards his laptop and asks, “How’s the knee treating you today?”

Daniel frowns. “Knee is good, haven’t needed so much as an Advil. Lots of work to do tonight?”

“Just polishing up a few things,” Johnny says evasively.

All right, enough is enough, he thinks, and gently pulls the laptop from Johnny’s fingers again. He closes it, sets it firmly on the coffee table, then maneuvers himself onto Johnny’s lap, straddling his thighs. “Hey,” he tries again - the only way he could be more direct than _this_ would require removing clothes, but he needs to see some answering heat. _Come on,_ he thinks.

Johnny takes one last sip of his drink - it is a G&T, Daniel can see now - and sets it aside to look up at Daniel tentatively. “Hey.”

He's nothing if not well-practiced in reading body language, especially Johnny’s, and he can see right away his boyfriend couldn’t possibly be _less_ into this than he is right now. He does the mental math that tells him Johnny started behaving differently after their New Year’s Day discussion, and his stomach tightens with tension and worry. He peels himself out of Johnny’s lap, comes to his feet and stands there uncertainly. “What’s going on?”

Johnny straightens and avoids his gaze. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You’re not? Alright, Johnny. You haven’t come near me in a week.” He tries to keep his voice calm and even, and succeeds, mostly.

He looks uncomfortable and barely meets his eyes. “Babe, I know. I thought you might need some space.”

“I don’t need space,” Daniel says quickly. “I need less space.” When Johnny doesn’t say anything, he continues more slowly. “But _you_ need space. Why?”

“I’m still working through it,” Johnny admits. “I hurt you, and you told me some things I didn’t know, and I see you struggling with this, and I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing.”

It’s painful and humiliating to have his fears confirmed like this. “You’re not sure. Jesus. I moved in five weeks ago. And now you need space and you’re not sure?”

“LaRusso, that’s not what I meant. I’m sure about you. That hasn’t changed.”

“That’s not how it feels to me. You know what, forget about it, you have your space, let me know when you’ve had enough.”


	5. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An uncomfortable distance affects our senseis at home and at the dojo.

An uncomfortable distance settles between them after their disastrous conversation Tuesday night. Although he wasn’t really tired, he’d showered and gone straight to bed, pretending to sleep an hour later when Johnny finally crawled under his side of the covers. That night, and the following nights, he didn’t have the heart to be rejected, so he didn’t reach out. Neither did Johnny, and that broke his heart that little bit more each time. 

One unhappy benefit of their work schedules - without making an effort to spend time together, their waking schedules don't intersect outside of their shared karate class sessions.

Friday, while Johnny was at work but well before time for the afternoon class, Daniel pulls the gi out of its packaging for the first time and studies the densely-woven black fabric for a moment, then opens it further to see the embroidered design on the back. To his shock, the Cobra Kai name is absent and the logo itself has been heavily modified to show the cobra intertwined with the Miyagi-do bonsai. When did Johnny come up with this? Why? He pulls himself together and focuses on the immediate, running the stiff fabric through a laundry cycle so he doesn’t look like a newbie standing matchside in a stiff, creased gi tomorrow at their first open.

Class runs as normal; Daniel is the first to arrive on weeknights, and on Fridays particularly he wears street clothes in, his only nod to dojo decorum the removal of his shoes and socks at the door. He spends some of that time running administrative work in Johnny’s office, planning to leave straight from the dojo to the bar as is his habit on Fridays. 

Johnny arrives ten minutes before class with just enough time to change into his gi; tonight, he gives Daniel a cautious once-over as he drops his bag and shoes in the office. “Are you up to running through some demonstrations with me tonight? Want to focus on some of the common point-scorers and counters.”

Daniel looks up, makes brief eye contact, and nods. “I’m good, call me in whenever.”

Johnny hesitates, looking like he wants to say something, then appears to change his mind. “All right.”

While he waits, Daniel pulls up apartment listings and scrolls idly through those closest to the bar, ignoring the South Seas, at least for now. He’s far from ready to pull the trigger, but he feels compelled to have some kind of plan B in case the situation doesn’t improve, or worsens. He doesn’t take it lightly - he knows them both well enough to know that if he punches out on Johnny, it’s a one-way trip.

He hears when Johnny is approaching that point in the lesson plan and heads out to the floor preemptively, removing his jacket enroute. When the time is right, he squares off with Johnny center-front, they bow and assume their customary relaxed-yet-ready postures. He expects Johnny to take offense as usual while he defends, leveraging what he learned from Miyagi back in the day - but tonight, much like Wednesday, Johnny slow-rolls, broadcasting the hell out each move and landing strikes at half-strength. It’s weird, irritating, and not just because it throws off Daniel’s own defensive timing - it’s just poor teaching.

Johnny’s next attempt is the same, and Daniel deflects forcefully, harder than strictly necessary. Johnny raises a challenging eyebrow; Daniel narrows his eyes a fraction. 

Another weak attempt from Johnny, met with an aggressive block and overstrength shove in counter. Now Johnny frowns, Daniel responds with a determined nod, and at least in this they communicate well.

Aisha and Hawk glance at each other, then look quickly back to the match.

Johnny comes at him a little stronger now, and Daniel gives it back at match strength, following through with a retaliatory strike that he doesn’t pull. Johnny nearly misses the block and takes a partial blow to the gut, clearly surprising him.

“You want offense now?” Johnny murmurs under his breath.

“Someone has to do it,” Daniel replies, just a little louder than a murmur.

“Damn,” Aisha says under her breath.

“Fine. Go,” Johnny grunts, so he does. 

It’s probably not the healthiest way to deal with his frustration, he realizes this much, but it gets the job done - it feels good to act instead of avoid, force some contact rather than inhabit the negative space that Johnny has imposed on him for a week and a half. He mines that vein, going after him hard and pushing him around the mat, reveling in the physical engagement until they’re both panting and sweating and any meaningful demonstration of technique has been exhausted. He finally relents, raising his hands in a ‘time out’ gesture.

Johnny steps back, eyeing him warily before turning to the group, all of whom are staring at both senseis with wide eyes. “Jake, Kev, you’re up,” he calls and points at the center of the mat. While the two bow and square off at the center, he and Johnny stand at opposite ends of the mat, making more eye contact than they’ve had in a week.

Later, after the last of the students have left, Johnny is waiting in the center of the room when Daniel exits the office wearing a fresh shirt.

“Feel better now?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, I do,” Daniel answers.

Johnny advances on him until they’re chest to chest. “Why did you come at me like that?”

Daniel glares back at him. “You’re not doing them any favors by half-stepping.”

“That’s not all that was, and you know it.”

“So what?”

"So chill out." Johnny gives him a little two-handed push, hardly enough to shift Daniel’s balance, and in happier times, he may have perceived it as affectionate. Tonight, he doesn't.

He shoves back more firmly. “There’s some _space_.”

“Really?” Johnny grabs his upper arms with both hands to pull him back in.

Daniel grabs and twists, breaking the hold easily and too quickly for Johnny to follow.

“What was that?” Johnny asks with real curiosity. “Show me that again-“

“What the fuck, Lawrence,” Daniel says abruptly and takes a step closer on his own. “I don’t know how we work through this, this whatever it is you’re doing, but this isn’t it. This is bullshit. You don’t get to play it off.“

“Okay,” Johnny says. “I know, okay?”

Daniel huffs, steps back and waits for Johnny to say something - anything. He looks for a softening, any indication of movement or warmth, but Johnny avoids his eyes.

“Can we talk tonight?” Johnny offers finally.

What he feels in his heart can only be described as terror, because he’s pretty sure where Johnny is taking this. He wants to protest, plead or fight, but his pride won’t allow it. It takes everything he has to remain composed. 

“It will be too late by the time I leave work,” he responds finally. “I’ll be at the open. We can talk after.”

Work blurs by, the bar mercifully busy after the quiet last few weeks, which helps him keep his mind off what’s coming. He does hole up in his office with the door closed for thirty minutes to print out a list of apartments to visit in the morning, before the match - he’ll be better able to handle what’s coming if he has a place to go. Rebuilding his little household after he got rid of most of his furniture and his kitchen stuff, minimal as it was, just six weeks ago is going to be an everloving bitch, and he’s suddenly enraged that Johnny’s putting him in this position; worse, that he allowed himself to be put in this position. 

He stays in it right up through 2am, pretending not to notice Laura’s scrutiny. Locking up at 2:45, she finally asks him, “Daniel, is everything all right? Didn’t expect you here so late.”

“I’m good,” he says, and oddly enough, he is. He’s worked off most of his tension and anger, and while he feels flat, he’s at least calm, even balanced. “I might need some extra time tomorrow, come in later than usual, some things to take care of.”

“Of course,” she assures him. “Whatever you need.”

That reminds him of Johnny, who said the same thing to him not too long ago, He nods to her, and just barely manages to hold himself together until he locks himself into the truck.

It’s well after three when he crawls into their bed for what he believes is the last time, and he’s still awake, thoughts swirling, when Johnny rolls over and curls against his back, swinging one arm over his chest. He tenses in surprise, then allows himself to relax into the warmth, because Christ, if this goes the way he thinks it’s going, he’s going to miss him.


	6. Match day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel reconnects with an old friend, then goes to the first open tournament with Johnny and his Cobras.

Although he doesn’t feel rested, his anxiety awakens him with the sunrise, and he’s out the door by 8am with the gi in his duffel, a king-size travel mug of liberally-sugared coffee, and his list of apartments - all well before Johnny awakens. The Valley high school’s doors open at 10:30 for the first tournament of the year, and qualifiers start at 11:00, so his time is relatively short.

The list is topped by two corporate-run, multistory complexes that are clean and modern but read to him as cold and sterile. Neither feels like it could ever become a home, disqualifying both immediately.

The third turns out to be a converted motel; kitschy, just on the verge of trendy, but he doesn’t like the look of some of the tenants - too many twenty-somethings. He suspects it’s a bit of a party place, a lot of turnover, loud.

The fourth reminds him too much of the original, pre-renovated South Seas with its peeling paint and algae-infested, uncovered pool. He doesn’t even open the gate.

It’s only 9:30. With nearly an hour left and nowhere else to go, he relents and swings by the South Seas where, by chance, he runs into Carmen at the gate coming in from her overnight shift. She’s visibly surprised to see him there, and, he notices, she looks tired. He remembers the pain of late-nights, night after night, and feels a pang that he hasn’t come by to see how Carmen and Miggie are doing since he moved out.

“Daniel, what on earth,” she calls, and pulls him into a friendly hug. “So good to see you, are you here to pick up mail-“ He sees the moment Carmen spots the penciled-up list of apartments in his hand. “Oh, honey.”

He folds the paper and tucks it, along with the pencil, into his jacket pocket alongside his phone. “Maybe I just miss this place,” he says ruefully.

She opens her mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it, instead reaching out her hand. “Come up for breakfast,” she urges. “Say hi to mama and Miggie. He asks about you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t-“

“Yes you can, come on.” She’s insistent in a way that’s uniquely Carmen, seizing his arm in a surprisingly-strong grip to tug him through the gate and up the familiar stairs. Her apartment door opens to happy voices and the clattering of plates and pans, and he can smell something simmering from where he stands in the doorway.

“Mr. LaRusso!” Miguel shouts from the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Carmen direct a warning headshake at Miguel’s yaya.

“Heyyy, Miggie,” he calls back. “How’s your offense?”

That’s apparently an invitation for Miguel to run at him with a theatrical attack accompanied by sound effects borrowed from 1970s kung fu movies. The kid’s not bad; he’s been working on his punches, or maybe it’s just puberty kicking in.

“Naw, you gotta do this,” he instructs, “try now,” and it feels a little bit like the old days for about ten minutes of roughhousing until yaya calls them to the table for crispy pancakes, scrambled eggs, toast, and achingly strong coffee.

“I don’t want to eat and run, Carmen, thank you but-“

“You have fifteen minutes,” Carmen informs him archly, and Miguel smirks next to her.

She ambushes him as soon as she gets him to sit down, heedless of the presence of her son or her mother. “Your old place is still vacant,” she leads off, “but I don’t believe for a minute you’re moving back in. What is going on with you two?”

He looks significantly towards Miguel. “Not the time,” he suggests mildly. “How’s the hospital these days? See you’re still working night shifts-“

She ignores his attempted diversion. “Come on, what, lover’s quarrel? Trouble working through the day to day?” At the other side of the table, yaya interjects something in spanish. “Ayy, mama. Maybe he’s a slob? You’re a slob?”

He sighs. “It’s complicated. I’m not really sure what’s going on.”

She raises a puzzled eyebrow. Across the little round table, yaya suggests “sex problem” in her broken English; Miguel giggles and Daniel pales.

“Well, that man is crazy for you,” Carmen tells him. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. I won’t tell you what to do, but have some faith. Be patient.”

“You know you’re telling me what to do right now,” he observes, amused.

“You see our crazy family,” she says, looking with exasperation at the other side of the table, where Miguel and his yaya are still cackling with each other. “Everything out in the open. Try it. What do you have to lose?”

Yaya aims a rolled-up pancake at him. “Eat. Too skinny.”

“Hey, mama, your English is improving, you’ve been practicing,” he compliments her.

The old lady grins back at him. “Never too late.”

Carmen hugs him at the door, and the warm rush of comfort makes him realize how starved he is for simple, affectionate contact. He squeezes back firmly. “Thanks, Carmen. I missed you both.”

“If it all goes to hell, you come crash on our couch,” she instructs. “Visit! Don’t be a stranger any more.”

…

He’s right on time for the Valley high school gym doors to open, 10:30 on the nose, and he’s the first to sign in for Cobra Kai. His nausea rises as soon as he drops his duffel to a bench in the locker room; thankfully very few adult participants have arrived and the under-18s have been designated their own changing areas elsewhere in the building, so there are few witnesses to his retching.

Putting on the gi for the first time in thirty years feels better than he feared it might, a mixture of familiar - the near-ritualistic layering, tying and straightening - and strange after the passage of all this time. The pants fall to just above the bones of his ankles, as they should; the v-neck shows a little more of his chest than he’s used to, and of course the damnable thing is sleeveless, making him feel particularly exposed - but, all in all, he feels all right, as ready as he’ll ever be. 

He wedges his feet into his slip-on shoes and shoulders his duffel, and only when he turns towards the door does he notice Johnny leaning against the frame, watching him, still wearing his street clothes. He stops, visually drinking Johnny in head-to-toe for a precious several seconds.

“I like the gi,” he finally says. “Your design. It was a surprise.”

Johnny is looking at him carefully, his expression inscrutable. “You look good in it,” he says after a moment. Then he steps very close - Daniel holds his breath - and briskly tugs the shoulders straight. Smooths the front where the cloth overlaps. Moves his hands down to where the belt rests above his hips, just for a moment. "I’m glad you’re here."

Daniel finally breathes in, savoring Johnny’s scent. "I wouldn’t let your cobras down."

Something odd passes through Johnny’s expression before he replies. “Okay. I need to change. Most of them are waiting in the lobby.” 

Daniel nods and walks around Johnny, through the doorway, carefully arranging his face into a calm neutrality he doesn’t feel.

After all the buildup, Daniel is surprised when the tournament itself is… fine. Granted this one is small, only a handful of local dojos represented, a much smaller audience, two mats - one for warming up and the other for scored matches - but he expected something. Flashbacks, maybe. Anxiety, or nausea. Instead, it feels almost exactly like a larger, louder version of their dedicated Monday practice sessions. After adjusting to the unfamiliar room, the feel of the gi’s rough weave and the rubbery gymnasium floor under his bare feet, he’s able to focus on the young cobras who are less composed than he is, by far. 

He looks them over, one by one. Hawk puts up a good front, Daniel gives him that much, but his nervousness shines through; his hands twist anxiously at his belt and he’s sweating. Daniel pats him on the shoulder in a way he hopes is comforting, and watches Aisha fidget and stare at each of the grouped teams; she looks like she’s trying to size up the competition. He feels the most empathy for little, sparky Bert who is nibbling on one knuckle, big eyes darting frantically around the room from behind his glasses as though in search of escape. Who knows, he might be, Daniel thinks, and makes a mental note to keep a particular eye on the little guy. 

Kev and Jake are staring at _him_ disconcertingly. When he catches them at it, Kev looks away quickly but Jake stays eyes-on, overtly taking stock of him, his arms and the knuckles of his hands, his ankles and feet. It’s the scars, he knows; _observant kid_ , he thinks. He finds the scrutiny uncomfortable but hides that behind a firmly-impassive facade; kids this age can smell blood in the water from miles away.

“Where’s sensei Lawrence?” Aisha asks.

“He’s here, you’re covered, don’t worry,” he assures, then brandishes the day’s schedule at the rest of them. “Time to go over the plan, gather around.” Really no different than a crew meeting at the bar, he thinks, and settles into it - but Johnny has to give the rah-rah speech, it’s his dojo. _Where the hell is he?_

As though on cue, Jake calls, “We didn’t think you were gonna show up.”

Johnny breaks into their little circle, giving Daniel a weighted look before turning his attention to the team. “Have some faith. I will _always_ show.”

“Yes, sensei,” all six youths respond in unison. Daniel waits, eyebrow raised, for Johnny’s pregame pep talk; the man doesn’t disappoint.

“You've all learned to be strong, strike hard, and fight with honor. To put every ounce of yourself into everything you do. But I haven't taught you the most important rule: mercy. The older you get, the more you're gonna learn, it’s better to be defeated by a strong lion than it is to defeat a crippled monkey. You fight fair, you fight with honor, you follow the rules, and you put your heart and soul into it, every step of the way. If you win, win the right way. If you win without honor, you lose.” 

When he pauses, all eyes are glued to him waiting for him to continue - including Daniel’s. 

His closing is delivered seriously, soberly. “When I was your age, my sensei didn’t teach me mercy, and I paid a price for it. People I care about paid an even higher price. You won’t understand this now, but one day you will: if I’m hard on you, it’s only so that you’ll be better than I was. Okay, Bert, Kev, with me. The rest of you, warm up with sensei LaRusso.”

Daniel feels like the breath has been knocked out of him, and it takes him a moment to register the direction Johnny just gave his charges. He tries to meet Johnny’s eyes, but his partner is focused on Kev and Bert, so he relents, leading the rest, Aisha at the front, to the space at the far side of the gymnasium.

As he leads them through an abbreviated stretching routine, Aisha asks him, “Sensei - do you know what Sensei Lawrence meant, about paying a price?”

Daniel looks around the small group - Jake is listening too, but the other two are just far enough away not to hear, chattering between themselves. He meets Aisha’s serious brown eyes. “That’s John- sensei Lawrence’s story to tell. One day, you should ask him.”

Jake breaks in. “We’re asking you, though.”

Daniel takes a moment to think. Jake is a good kid off the mat and aggressive on it, reminding him a bit of “take him out of commission” Bobby. A lot of potential, but if he has to guess, he’ll move on to other pursuits when he ages out of the under-18 bracket. Just doesn’t have the passion for it. Aisha is still green but strong, dedicated, and good-natured, a natural teacher. He could imagine Aisha staying with it, becoming a coach or a sensei in her own right one day. He decides she’s his audience.

“Things were different when sensei Lawrence and I were competing in the eighties,” he begins. “There were rules, referees, all that stuff, but it wasn’t enforced. Some dojos fought dirty to win.” He intentionally leaves Cobra Kai out of it - no reason to saddle these kids with the baggage of the past. “Some teachers taught their students to win at any cost, to do real damage to their opponent if they had to. Sensei Lawrence had a teacher like that, one of the worst.”

Aisha and Jake look at each other.

“You ask what he meant about paying a price. When you fight dirty, you might hurt your opponent, sure. How do you pay a price? Well, if you have to fight dirty to win, did you really win? How will you feel if you injure your opponent badly? Maybe permanently? That’s obvious, right?”

“I mean, bad, duh,” Aisha agrees, stretching out the ‘duh’. Jake nods in quiet agreement.

“That’s because you’re good students and you have a good sensei.” Daniel nods. “If you ever take on the role of a teacher, you have to pass the same lesson to your students too. And demonstrate it, every day. Make sense?”

Both answer. “Yes, sensei.”

“All right. Enough of that. Stretch, you’re up soon.”

Bert loses in the first round; Kev and Jake make it through round one only to be knocked out in their respective second matches. Hawk makes it to the semifinal before being taken out, fairly, by a kid from the Topanga Karate dojo, but he handles it poorly and refuses to bow. His kvetching and poor sportsmanship finally earns him one of Johnny’s famous ‘Quiet!’s, shocking his mother in the stands. Aisha does them all proud, making it to the final match before losing narrowly, and fairly, by a single point. She and her victorious opponent bow afterwards, then shake hands, and Daniel feels his chest swell with pride for her.

… 

His elevated mood after the tournament sinks into trepidation when Daniel rides the elevator to the condo. He’s the first to arrive and takes the liberty of pouring himself two fingers of scotch in a tumbler while he waits for the other shoe to fall. It’s 3pm on a Saturday, and if he’s about to get some variant of an “it’s not you, it’s me” speech from Johnny Lawrence, he wants the cushion of the alcohol while keeping enough wits to make a dignified exit.

He doesn’t need to wait long; he swallows what remains of the scotch when he hears the front door open, sets the empty tumbler gently on the coffee table, and braces himself for whatever is coming next. Johnny wore his gi home; his eyes are drawn to the sliver of chest exposed by the loosely-belted top, and he wishes, more than anything, that he could simply stand up, walk over to his boyfriend, unbelt his top, and run his hands over his chest, down his belly, up the nape of his neck.

“They made a good showing,” Johnny starts, dropping his own bag on the dining table. “You seemed alright. Were you?”

So, we’re easing into this, Daniel thinks as he comes to his feet. “Yeah, it was okay,” he affirms. “You taught them well. Hawk needs a kick in the ass.”

“ _We_ are teaching them well,” Johnny firmly corrects him, striding across the living room to close the distance between them. Then, shockingly, he seizes Daniel by both shoulders, pulls him roughly against his body, and holds him tight.

Daniel stiffens in surprise, then, despite the warning sirens screaming at him that he’s just setting himself up for more pain, he softens into him, reaching his arms around his waist to return the embrace. He forces himself to say, “Johnny, I don’t understand.”

Johnny sighs, and Daniel realizes he’s trembling. “I know. I need to tell you some things.” He doesn’t let go.

“I’m listening.”

“Terry Silver is sponsoring this year’s All Valley. He’s giving the keynote speech.”

Daniel drops his arms from Johnny’s waist and abruptly steps back; Johnny lets him go.


	7. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny and Daniel come clean with eachother - maybe they can rebuild their relationship from here, but how will they tackle all of the other challenges that lie ahead?

They look at each other uncertainly, standing a foot apart in the middle of the living room.

“I don’t understand,” Daniel says. “I thought he was overseas, retired, gone. And, honestly, does it matter? He was a creep thirty years ago. Not my problem today.”

“He was more than a-“

“I know what he was, Johnny. So what? Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

“No. I guess it’s part of it. But no.”

“Jesus Christ,” he finally bursts, frustrated. “Why are you doing this to me? Get it over with. This is fucking abusive. You have to know that.”

“What the hell, what are you talking about?” Johnny nearly shouts.

He spits back, “Say it. You don’t feel the same, it’s too fucked up to deal with. You need me out. You’re sorry. Fine. Okay? What the fuck.” He lurches back a pace. “I'm sick of the suspense. Send me a text, leave me a note, whatever. I’m going to work.”

“No, no, fuck,” Johnny protests, reaching out for him. “Stop. Please.”

“Fuck.” Daniel’s eyes blur; if he doesn’t get out of this situation right fucking now, he’s going to lose all the composure and dignity that remains to him. 

“I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry. None of that shit is true. I love you.”

His legs threaten to buckle and fold as his emotions flood with relief tinged with anger. He knows he tends to overreact in the moment - he has a temper, always has, and he’s been known to jump to conclusions - but he also knows Johnny has been distant, standoffish; different. Something happened.

"What then? What changed?"

"I changed."

"Oh god, don't say 'it's not you, it's me' now. Don't fuck with me," he says angrily, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest.

Johnny winces, closes the distance between them a second time, grabs him by the shoulders again. "I've been messed up about the whole thing, okay? Because it was all my fault. I brought it all down on you, and every time I think about it, I feel guilty as hell about it."

 _Oh._ "Guilt? No. We’ve beat this to death. It wasn’t your fault… sure, you were a bullying shithead, but it was Kreese’s fault, and Terry’s."

"It all happened because of me. Because your only route through the bullshit was the stupid tournament in 84, and that brought Terry here to the Valley, and put you right in his sights."

Finally, Daniel begins to understand the path Johnny’s thoughts had followed. But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? No one could have predicted what Kreese was going to do, and no one but Kreese knew what kind of man Terry Silver was. "Or maybe a butterfly flapped its wings in Costa Rica. You’re being ridiculous."

Johnny continues. "And your knee has been fucked up ever since I took it out. I see you in pain, it interferes with your work. When I broke you at new years-"

"Broke me? Come on, Johnny, aren’t we over this?"

"-shut up, I’m not done. Now Terry's back, and I'm pushing you right back into this tournament situation-"

"Okay. Get over yourself. You weren’t even my biggest nemesis. You barely crack the top five."

Johnny has the unmitigated gall to look _insulted_ and Daniel can't restrain an abrupt, humorless laugh.

"But you were my first, and that’s special," he assures him with mock seriousness.

"Not helpful," Johnny says. "I thought I was the biggest."

"Terry was six-foot-five."

Johnny is visibly taken aback. "That's not funny."

"I’m not laughing,” he retorts sharply. “Johnny, what are we doing?”

Johnny’s expression softens, and he tugs him in close with hands more gentle than should be possible for a man built the way he is. Daniel finally gives in to the impulse to touch him, slipping one hand under the flap of his top and resting his hand on the warm skin beneath, feeling his strong, steady heartbeat. At this, Johnny looks back at him with such passion and longing that, for the first time, Daniel actually believes Johnny’s still in this with him.

“I want something from you,” Johnny tells him. “I want you to get that taken care of.” He nods at his leg.

He stiffens, feeling defensive. “I’d like that too. But it’s not an option right now. We’ve talked about this.”

“We have not talked about it. We’re talking about it now. Let me do this for you. I found a good surgeon, a specialist.”

Daniel stares at him. That morning, he wasn’t even sure they’d last through the month. Where is this coming from? “I can’t accept that.“

“Why not? Listen. As soon as I saw you in that fucking Cobra Kai gi this morning, after all the shit they did, after what I did, knowing how hard it is for you to be there at all… this is something I can do for you. So let me.”

Daniel pulls back. “You already do enough.”

Johnny steps in again and kisses him, waiting the moments it takes Daniel to soften and open his mouth to him. 

He comes up for air. “Johnny, I can’t.”

Johnny pulls him firmly against his body again and kisses him again, slowly and deeply. Daniel squirms in protest for a moment, then melts into his embrace, arching when Johnny runs a hand under the hem of his shirt. At the long-awaited touch, he sighs into his mouth.

Johnny pauses. “Is that a yes?”

“No-“ 

Johnny’s on him again, moving his mouth to Daniel’s throat and working a leg between his thighs. Even that doesn’t feel like enough after so many days without; Daniel reaches up to untie Johnny’s belt and push open his top so he can run both hands over his chest, around his waist and up his back. Johnny nestles his pelvis against Daniel’s and slowly rolls his hips; instinctively, Daniel wraps a leg around his thighs. The angle and position makes it clear both of them are hard; the friction through their clothes shoots arousal through him, drawing an involuntary moan.

“You like that?” Johnny rumbles in his ear.

Daniel blinks back tears. “Goddamnit, if you ever do this to me again-“

“I know,” he agrees roughly. “I’m sorry. I was-“

“Shut up.” Daniel pulls him back in, and they make out like teenagers until they’re both desperately aroused.

“Come on,” Johnny finally demands with kiss-swollen lips, leading him hastily into the bedroom where they quickly remove the rest of each other's clothes. They take their time exploring each other’s bodies all over again; when Johnny sinks into him at long last, the relief and the emotion is nearly overwhelming, and he feels the need to close his eyes, biting his lower lip to muffle his cries.

Johnny is being terribly careful with him, he knows. Afterwards, when he’s caught his breath, he rolls over to find Johnny gazing at him, his blond hair comically cowlicked, and that makes Daniel smile for the first time.

“Do you have to go in tonight?” Johnny finally asks him. The question isn’t entirely casual.

The light outside tells him it’s after 5:00. “I said I’d go in tonight, later than usual. Maybe 7 or 8.”

“So you could take care of some things?”

“...Yeah. Told Laura I might need the time.”

“Like look at apartments? You never clear your browser history.”

He shrugs a little uncomfortably. “The way you’ve been acting, I didn’t know where your head was at. Needing space. Not sure you were doing the right thing. I thought I’d better line something up. Just in case.”

“Ok.” Johnny rests his hand on Daniel’s upper arm and absently strokes the old scar with his thumb. “But you’re not. Not now. Not going to-”

Daniel reaches up to clasp Johnny’s damp wrist; they’re both still slicked with sweat. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I meant what I said. I want to fix-“

“Let’s just take this day by day right now. Okay?” He softens his reticence by pulling Johnny in by the nape of his neck for a slow kiss. “I missed you.”

Johnny starts to say something, then looks like he decides against it. “I’ll wait up for you. Let’s make some dinner, get you fed.”

“Yeah?” Daniel grins, suddenly realizing just how much he’d missed Johnny ordering him around in the kitchen.

…

He arrives at the bar just in time - the crowd is building, the Saturday night band needs some help, the bartender looks like he’s struggling to keep up with demand… and Laura is nowhere in sight. He catches Mei rushing by - “is Laura here?”

“She called in sick, left a message,” Mei replied hurriedly over a tray full of food balanced on her arm.

“Shit, hope she’s all right,” he says, mostly to himself - but then he’s fully occupied with the band, pitching in behind the bar, working prep and restock, and the night flies by. He takes time to text Johnny...

> “laura out sick, will be late, dont wait up”

...and it’s 3am when he finally slides into bed with a passed-out Johnny. Tonight, after only a moment of hesitation, he wraps the larger man in his arms, nestling his nose into the warm arc of his neck. 


	8. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more about Cobra Kai’s history under the ownership of Terry Silver, get a hint of the path forward... and Daniel wants to know what DILF means.

Daniel slept until 10am; by the time he dragged himself out of his morning shower, Johnny was already three cups of coffee into his morning, noisily rattling pans in the kitchen. He looks hesitantly across the kitchen island at Johnny after their emotional Saturday, not sure what to expect; his boyfriend slides a coffee mug across to him with a significant look. “Late night.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling it today,” he replies, then, seeing Johnny's concern, he points his coffee-stirring spoon at him. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine. I’ll be at practice.”

Johnny grunts in disapproval, but then gives him a sly smirk, looking over at him through blond eyelashes as he dishes eggs and hash onto two plates. They each carry a plate with their coffees to the dining table; Johnny turns the Sunday morning news shows on with the volume low.

After a little while, Johnny awkwardly breaks their silence. “I need to talk to you about something. I don’t know if this is - if there’s any right time for this.”

Daniel freezes mid-bite, swallows what’s already in his mouth, slowly sets down his fork. 

“I need to ask you. When you told me about Terry, what you told me, was that everything?”

He lifts his coffee cup, notices his hand is shaking, sets it down on the table again. “What are you really asking?”

Johnny looks down at his plate. “After what you said - LaRusso, I had to know. I had someone look into it. We found a pattern.”

“A pattern.”

“Payoffs.”

“I see.” He blinks. “I told you everything. There was nothing more. You’re the only person I ever told. Who was he paying off?”

Johnny sighs. “Parents. The police.”

“When? How long?”

“Using the Cobra Kai name, through the late eighties. About four years. Started in ‘85.”

The saliva floods his mouth ahead of the bile and he lurches for the bathroom, closing the door behind him. As he heaves up his breakfast, all he can think about is how he knew Terry was up to something, he knew it wasn’t right, and he never told anyone. He didn’t say a word, not right after he quit, not later when he better understood what Terry was trying to do with him.

Johnny is waiting outside the bathroom door when he emerges, shaking, about ten minutes later; he’s led out to the patio’s fresh air and handed a glass of water.

“You didn’t know,” Johnny said quietly. “I didn’t know. Maybe I should have.”

“It’s not about us,” he says. “Do you know… who? How many?”

“I know most,” he admits.

 _Most._ “Is he… does he teach now?” It’s so difficult to phrase that question, to refer to Terry in any sense as a teacher. It also explains why a guy like Terry, obscenely-wealthy business executive, was so _personally invested_ in youth karate.

“We don’t think so.”

“He can’t be allowed to come here, Johnny. He can’t be allowed to do this, to associate himself with what we do.” He realizes only afterwards that he’d used the word ‘we’; even though these are really Johnny’s students and Johnny’s dojos, he has come to feel deeply protective of these kids, and the thought of any of them, or any other student, going through what he did - or worse - is unacceptable.

“I know he can’t. I’m working on that.”

“That’s what you’ve been so wrapped up in these last two weeks. Figuring all of this out by yourself.”

“Yeah. I do have a couple of other folks working on it.”

“Okay. I get it now. I don’t know what to say.” He wishes he’d been more patient, he wishes he could help, he wishes Johnny didn't feel the weight of all of it on his shoulders.

Johnny shrugs; Daniel reaches out to cover his hand with his own.

…

When Daniel arrives at the dojo ahead of the second Sunday class, he’s alarmed to see some changes he didn’t expect, that Johnny hadn’t warned him about. The first of these is that the garish cobra has been peeled off the storefront door and the large display window. There’s also been some painting inside - the formerly-red walls have been painted over in white and blue. He looks for Johnny, eventually finding him in the rear storage area sorting through a stack of gi tops and t-shirts.

“Hey,” he calls out. “What’s all this? Making some changes?”

Johnny looks up, and Daniel can see he looks calmer and brighter than he has in a week. Not for the first time, he feels badly that while he was going through his own uncertainty and turmoil, he missed the signs that should have told him Johnny was deeply distressed and needed help. He’d only seen the things that made him personally feel hurt or insecure.

“Yeah, I am,” Johnny confirms. “I have crews out to all of our locations, doing some stripping, painting. Rebranding.” He watches Daniel sidelong for a reaction.

“Rebranding, huh? Ready to share, or still working through it?” He smiles, keeping his expression gentle.

“You’ve seen part of it already, on the back of your gi.”

The cobra and bonsai, intertwined. He’s suddenly at a loss for words; his breath halts and his eyes latch onto Johnny’s. He can see the determination written all over his face; Johnny is so damned _sure_ about this.

“I can’t continue the Cobra Kai name; you understand better than anyone. I want you to help me with the next- well. The name. The philosophy. There’s a lot to figure out. I want you to be a part of it.” Johnny plants his hands on Daniel’s waist, pivoting their bodies towards each other, and tips their foreheads together. “Will you?”

What Johnny asks, he’d never anticipated or imagined. It has the feeling and carries the significance of a marriage proposal - and the answer is obvious. He rests both hands on Johnny’s solid chest, feeling the movement of his breath. “Anything you need,” he tells him.

At that moment, the door between the dojo and the storage area is pushed open.

“Whoops, sorry!” Jake’s voice echoes into the storage area. Both startle, separate, and turn just in time to see the door close again.

“Shit,” Johnny looks at him with an abashed grin. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

Daniel winces. “Well, you better get out there and talk to him, unless you want to do it together, but will that make it weird?”

Johnny shrugs. “I’ll go check on him. See you when class starts?”

Daniel agrees - and by the time he enters the training room, ten minutes later, he doesn’t detect any awkwardness, other than maybe his own; aside from a little bit of redness in his cheeks, Jake seems fine, and the other students seem none the wiser. 

...

Thankfully, Laura is over her cold and back at work that evening, and Daniel is able to leave by midnight. Although Johnny is already in bed, he’s not yet asleep, so he sleepily rolls over to watch Daniel as he takes his post-work shower and climbs under the covers next to him, hair wet and dressed only in shorts. 

Daniel’s a little hesitant when he reaches over to rest his hand on Johnny’s forearm. “So how did it go with Jake? That was awkward.”

Johnny shakes with silent laughter.

“What?”

“He said he was sorry he barged in. He also said everyone already knows we’re a… thing.”

Daniel can barely make out Johnny’s eyes in the dark. “How could they know?” He thinks back to his participation in their training. They usually arrived and left in separate cars, often at different times, because of their contrasting work schedules, and they’re never physically demonstrative in the dojo... at least not until today.

He feels more than sees Johnny shrug. “Just said we’re not as subtle as we think we are. Also, they have a nickname for us.”

“What?”

“The DILFs.”

“What’s a dilf? Is that even a word?”

“That’s the weird part, because we’re not… you know what, you really don’t want to know,” Johnny says with an odd chuckle. “Come on, babe, I have an early morning.”

He huffs, but not with any real frustration; after a difficult several days, it’s enough just to tuck his head against Johnny’s neck and breathe him in.


	9. A new thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The senseis start to work through the tactics of revamping the badass enterprise that is Cobra Kai, and decide to seek advice from a mentor.

When Johnny arrives for their second competitors-only Monday training session, Daniel can immediately see he’s stressed and on edge; his mouth is set in a firm line and he looks like he’s been running his hands through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled than usual. Daniel has Aisha run the group through a quick warm-up to give Johnny more time to get himself together.

Their plan for this evening was to review the previous Saturday’s tournament performance and shore up some weak areas in their technique. Daniel will act the role of opponent with each student, with Johnny guiding and critiquing from offside.

They start with Bert, though given their size difference, it’s a little tricky. Daniel runs through the initial series of moves with him slowly, talking him through it.

“See that? You left yourself open, right there… so the other guy did this…”

Bert responds, and Johnny points out to the class, “See, Bert did well with that block, that’s how you block that-“

“But then your opponent came in with a jab,” Daniel demonstrates. As rattled as Bert was in his match, he’s very comfortable here, better able to focus and learn without the distraction of the referee and an unfamiliar opponent. Daniel can’t help but glow with the pleasure of seeing this student absorb the lesson and improve.

Next up is Hawk. Daniel walks him through a similar replay, although Hawk accepts this with less grace, resisting Daniel’s approach and arguing with Johnny’s critiques. Finally, already thin on patience, Johnny’s frustration overwhelms him, and he snaps, “Quiet!”. The unaccustomed volume brings Hawk up short. 

Daniel signals a plea for patience to Johnny with his eyes as he admonishes, “time to decide. Are you here to learn, or not?”

“Not from you,” Hawk retorts.

“Leave this dojo, right now,” Johnny barks.

Daniel suggests in a more moderate tone, “Come back when you’re ready to learn. Only then.”

Hawk turns on his heel and crashes through the front door, shoving it open with both hands.

“Kinda reminds me of me,” he tells Johnny under his breath. “Remember soccer tryouts?” 

Johnny huffs. “You weren’t that bad. And I’ve had it with his shit.”

Daniel remembers it very differently. “He’s just a kid, Johnny. He’ll be back.”

Aisha, Jake, and the others look chastened, wide-eyed, and Daniel briefly wonders who Hawk’s friends are because he hasn’t seen any evidence of friendship between him and any of the other students in his class.

“All right,” Daniel agrees, and tears his gaze away from Johnny to focus on Aisha. “Your turn. Let’s start in the middle, where he had you pinned in here…”

“How the fuck do you remember all that?” Johnny asks him afterwards. “It’s like you have the whole thing in your head, ready to replay.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, I just do. It’s like a dance. One move follows the other. Has Hawk always been this pissed off?”

Johnny shakes his head. “No. When he started with me last year, he was pretty timid, getting bullied a lot at school about his lip - you see the scar. A couple of months in, he changed. Came in with an attitude and that mohawk, said he’d ‘flipped the script’. At first, I thought it might be a good thing, he got some confidence and the bullying stopped. But then, there was the thing with Aisha this spring.”

“Seems extreme, doesn’t it?” Daniel asks. “Tonight, he said he didn’t want to learn from me. Then the Aisha thing. Do you think he’s a homophobe?”

This time, Johnny shrugs. “I hope not. I should probably talk to him. He just pisses me off.”

They retreat to the office together to work through the entry paperwork for the All Valley, but the simple forms raise simple questions that no longer have simple answers.

“Are you going to keep the Cobra Kai name through the winter tournaments?” Daniel asks curiously. “The kids are pretty attached to it. They treat it like their identity.”

Johnny looks defeated. “All the more reason to change it, but we haven’t figured out a new name yet.”

“When you change it, you’ll have to replace gis. Tell students. Tell parents. Change the names on the lease, the bank accounts…” Daniel is thinking of all the things he’d had to do when he bought the bar and updated the name, all mixed in with the things he’d had to do when he and Amanda divorced...

“We shouldn’t have to change the lease, the accounts, any of that. Just the signage and stuff. We do business as Cobra Kai, but the corporate entity has its own name. Cobra Kai is more like a brand. The advertising. Oh god, I have to call the marketing agency.”

“Huh. What’s the, uh, corporate entity?”

Johnny looks a little ashamed. “Badass Enterprises.”

Daniel laughs hard enough, long enough, that he can’t breathe; by the time he calms down enough to speak, his diaphragm aches. “You called it - oh shit, you really called it Badass Enterprises? Is that on the W-2s and everything?” When he nods in the affirmative, Daniel loses it all over again.

Now Johnny looks irritated. “I was 23, I thought it sounded cool.”

He tries to tamp down his helpless cackling, managing to scale himself back to sporadic snorting. “It certainly sounds like something…”

“All right, smartass,” Johnny asserts. “You keep saying I’ll have to come up with a name, tell students, replace gis… but it’s ‘us’, not ‘me’ or ‘you’. You’re supposed to be helping me with this.”

That sobers him up. Johnny is right, he asked him for help, and he’d agreed. ‘Anything you need’, he’d said, and now it’s time to fulfill the promise. “Okay, okay,” he relents. “I guess there’s a reason you didn’t call the dojos ‘Badass Karate’?”

“It sounded silly,” Johnny replies, and Daniel has to work hard, _very_ hard, not to crack up again. “Besides, I trained as a Cobra Kai - Cobra Kai never dies, remember. I wanted to carry on that name, even if I also wanted to improve it, fix the mistakes.”

Daniel nods, sighs, and regrets the path he’d taken in his youth - not for the first time. “I trained under Miyagi for just a year, and the way we split at the end - I left him on really bad terms - I have so little of his teachings. Just the basics, and the practical shit I picked up on my own over the years. And I guess some of Terry’s flavor of Cobra Kai too. I feel like I’m making it up as I go along.”

Johnny frowns at him. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

He shrugs. “Don’t I? But I guess that’s not helpful right now.”

“You ever talk to Miyagi about any of this shit?”

“Not really. Just a little bit of reminiscing now and then. We keep it light.”

“And you were never one to talk about that stuff, right? Maybe you should, though. Maybe he’d have some good advice.”

“Advice about teaching? Renaming the dojo?” He’s trying to imagine the conversation. What would he ask? How? Miyagi strongly disapproved of Cobra Kai, and while Miyagi knows a little bit about what Johnny’s done through Daniel, he doesn’t know what Mr. Miyagi really thinks about any of this, aside from a surface-level, polite interest in the students and how his teaching is going.

“About any of it.” Johnny looks at him seriously. “I’ll never get you to a psychologist, we both know that, but it’s something.”

He thinks about that for a minute. “Let’s both go,” he finally decides out loud. “We’re figuring this out together, right?”

An expression crosses Johnny’s face that Daniel has a hard time interpreting. Curiosity, trepidation… and anger? But Johnny answers in the affirmative. “All right, we’ll both go.”


	10. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel and Johnny visit Mr. Miyagi. There are revelations on all sides, and, just maybe, some progress towards the future.

It’s a sunny Saturday morning when they drive over to Miyagi’s in Daniel’s Tacoma. Johnny has never visited Mr. Miyagi at his home before, with Daniel or on his own, so he looks interestedly through the windscreen as they approach the old man’s house, sipping coffee from his travel mug.

“How long has Mr. Miyagi lived here?” Johnny asks curiously.

“Several years.”

“Where was he before that?”

Daniel answers uncomfortably, “I’ve never really asked.”

“Jesus, LaRusso. What do you two even talk about?”

Daniel pulls up into the driveway of one of the complexes, puts the truck in neutral and sets the parking brake. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” he asks. 

“Yeah, it really does,” Johnny admits. “Sometimes I wonder if you and Miyagi say anything at all, or if you just come over here and drink tea and poke at your little trees in silence for hours at a time. Meditation or some shit.”

“Little of both,” Daniel says cryptically. “Not everything needs to be said. Sometimes, it’s enough to just be there. Come on.” Johnny gets out of the truck, and Daniel follows, locking the doors behind them and leading him into Miyagi’s parklike backyard where the old man himself already sits in a lawn chair, having his morning tea in a ceramic cup.

Aside from the artificially-polite situation of Miyagi’s visit to their home for Christmas Eve dinner with Daniel’s mother, Johnny and Miyagi really haven’t interacted. It belatedly occurs to him that Miyagi may not be entirely clear about the nature of Daniel’s relationship with Johnny; did he wonder why Johnny accompanied him that first day, when Miyagi came to Daniel’s bar to find him? Did he pick up on the subtext at Christmas Eve dinner? He can’t even remember the details of the conversation - he has no idea.

“Heyyy, Mr. Miyagi,” Daniel greets. “You remember Johnny? Ok if he joins?”

His old sensei glances at Johnny briefly, then looks Daniel over more closely as he sits at one end of his garden bench. “Daniel-san,” he nods, then, after a pause, “Johnny-san.” Johnny, surprised at Miyagi’s use of the honorific, bows from where he’s awkwardly standing, more or less between them; Miyagi responds with a very Americanized nod. “How are students? Ready for tournament?”

Johnny glances quickly at Daniel, the unspoken thought clear on his face, _so you’ve told him about that._ Daniel lifts an eyebrow at him while he answers Mr. Miyagi. “They are. The All-Valley is in a few weeks. One of our students, Aisha, is very strong, she might reach the final round.”

“Cobra Kai, still fight for trophies after so many years,” he comments ambiguously, looking mostly at Johnny.

Johnny gives Daniel a sidelong look, then sits down next to him on the little concrete bench. It's small enough that their shoulders touch, and Daniel presses into him reassuringly. 

“It’s good for them,” Johnny answers. “They like the challenge. They learn good sportsmanship, confidence.”

“I remember ‘strike first, strike hard, no mercy’. I met your sensei,” Miyagi reminds him - as though any of them could forget. Daniel knows Johnny is remembering his last encounter with Kreese even before he sees him unconsciously place his hand at his neck.

"I don't teach the way sen- the way Kreese taught," Johnny retorts sharply.

"He's right, you know. It’s not Kreese’s Cobra Kai now, or Terry’s," Daniel agrees. "I've been showing the older kids what you taught me."

"Teaching," Johnny clarifies. "We teach together."

Miyagi sets his tea on the ground, and watches them for a moment with an expression of curiosity… and surprise? Then he gets up and walks inside his home without a word.

"Is he angry?" Johnny murmurs.  
"No," Daniel murmurs back. "Maybe surprised."

After a minute, the older man reappears carrying a small card table, setting it in front of them where they’re seated on the bench, then dragging his lawn chair closer, to the opposite side of the table. He reenters the house and comes out again with a teapot and two cups. All of this, he places on the card table, followed by his own cup that he’d left on the ground a few minutes before. He sits in his chair once more, gives a little nod, and carefully, almost ceremonially, fills all three cups with tea.

Daniel picks up his cup with two hands and takes a sip, as does Mr. Miyagi. After an expectant moment, Johnny follows suit, the small cup looking even smaller in his large hands.

“You teach Okinawan karate?” he asks, looking at Daniel seriously; when Daniel nods, he retrieves two things from a cavernous pant pocket - a photograph, and a small drum, the size of a large baby’s rattle, with two wooden beads on strings fastened to its sides - placing both on the little table. “Do you remember?”

Daniel first picks up the photograph, and immediately beams. Johnny can’t help but grin at Daniel’s obvious joy and the happy crinkles around his brown eyes. Finally, Daniel tilts the photo to show him - the picture is of him, much younger, standing in what looks like a small village road with an asian girl of about the same age.

“Where did you get this?” Daniel asks Mr. Miyagi softly. “I’d nearly forgotten what Kumiko looked like.”

“Yukie send,” he answers. “Just a few years ago. She write, _Daniel-san like son to you. You make amends._ But I did not know where, until see you on news. You look same.”

Daniel is so obviously overcome, Johnny wraps a comforting arm around him and tilts his head against Daniel’s, looking at the old photo and realizing how young he was - it must have been right around ‘84. “Hey, I remember that asshole,” he says softly. And he really does look much the same now as he did then, the sharp lines of his chin, the dark hair, that toothy smile - but then, suddenly conscious of Miyagi’s gaze, he leans away from Daniel and drops his arm.

“Thank you,” Daniel finally manages, looking at Miyagi with damp eyes.

“You remember this too,” Miyagi says, now nodding at the little drum.

“Yeah, I remember all of it,” he confirms. “I thought you’d have to take me home to ma in a bodybag. I really did.” When Johnny turns to stare at him in shock, he’s just ruefully shaking his head.

“What?!” he demands sharply.

Daniel looks at him in surprise - then he looks embarrassed. “Forget it, it was a long time ago-“

“Oh, where have I heard that before,” Johnny says disgustedly.

Across from them, Miyagi’s shoulders are shaking; Johnny is the first to notice and realize the man is laughing silently, helplessly, nearly in tears. Soon, both Daniel and Johnny are transfixed, watching Miyagi break down into hilarity.

“You’re… you two… together...” - the old man can’t even complete a sentence, he’s laughing so hard.

Daniel rolls his eyes, and Johnny’s indignance finally cracks into embarrassment. “Shit,” Johnny says under his breath, and _that_ elicits a snicker from Daniel that evolves into its own series of cackles.

All three men struggle to pull themselves together, and after a few minutes, they manage at least the appearance of sobriety.

“So we do more together than just teach,” Daniel starts, and that sets them all off again.

Finally, Johnny recovers enough to ask. “What were you talking about, anyway, bring you home in a body bag? You said something once about Okinawa, that you didn’t have anywhere to puke.”

“I don’t want to revisit that,” Daniel says with emphasis. Then he notices Miyagi staring at him expectantly. “Oh, come on.”

 _How do I defuse this?_ Daniel asks himself. “So you remember asking me about my biggest rival, nemesis, whatever,” he starts.

“Yeah, Terry Silver,” Johnny answers - and both men notice Miyagi startle at that name.

“No. I had to fight a guy when we went to Okinawa. Chozen. That’s it.” He puts a note of finality into his voice. _That should do it_ , he congratulates himself.

“No fight for trophy,” Miyagi confirms with what sounds like approval. “This was real fight, fight for honor, to the death.”

"Jesus Christ," Johnny barks, turning to stare at Miyagi. "You took him to Japan for a _deathmatch_?"

 _Damn it._ "It wasn't like that," Daniel interjects quickly. "It wasn't his fault. I dishonored a man in his village, twice. That was Chozen. First, by exposing him as a cheat. Later, as a coward. I brought that down on myself, poking my nose where it didn’t belong."

"You learned the wrong lesson," the old man says. “Not ‘poke nose’. You right a wrong.”

"It almost got me killed," he said flatly. "And Kumiko too."

“I want to hear this,” Johnny demands.

Daniel knows Johnny isn’t going to let this one go. “Chozen took Kumiko hostage at knifepoint and threatened to kill her unless I agreed to fight him to the death. He was deranged. She was terrified. What could I do? I couldn’t walk away.”

He thinks back to the fight, and even though he's consciously avoided thinking about it for thirty years, all of the memories are right there. He can smell the fires of the festival and feel the sandy soil under his feet. Chozen, so much larger and stronger than he was, and with many more years of practice under his belt, attacking him with overwhelming force while a sea of strangers looked on. The pummeling he took, the pain and fear, the weakness and ache in his poorly-healed knee, his panic - his confusion when the beating of the drums started. Through luck, the drums reminding him of the defense/offense strategy modeled from their motion, he prevailed.

"He was winning. It was a close thing,” he says quietly. “I finally got the upper hand and got him down on the ground. Asked him if he wanted to live or die. He chose death, and I chose mercy. If this had happened after my time with Terry, maybe I wouldn’t have.”

That’s the most frightening thing about all of it. It had come down to luck. The person Terry tried to turn him into may well have become a murderer that night.

He feels Johnny’s protective hand on his lower back at the same time Johnny’s sharp voice lashes out. “What the fuck, old man, you were supposed to be his guardian! Did you know Terry Silver is back? He’s going to be at the goddamned All Valley. Did you know what he-“

Daniel lashes back. “Stop! He didn’t know. I didn’t tell him.”

“He should have seen,” Johnny says - but he stops.

Miyagi’s eyes fall to his hands, his arms. He’s wearing short sleeves today - he’s become more comfortable in his own skin lately - and suddenly he regrets the exposure of the old scars to Mr. Miyagi’s scrutiny.

“I should have seen,” he agrees. “Daniel-san, I regret. Mistake.”

“No, Mr. Miyagi, I hid it from you, then I ran away. I regret that, not accepting your help. Please. Never think this was your responsibility.”

Johnny, sitting stiffly at his side, clearly disagrees, but he holds his tongue - perhaps because he sees the sadness in Miyagi’s expression, and in Daniel’s. They sit silently, somberly, for several minutes.

Finally, Miyagi breaks their silence. “You teach Okinawan karate, I teach you.” Then he looks at Johnny. “Both of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This damned thing keeps growing. Halp! Chapter count will land at 14 or 15. Also, expect new tags in the next couple of chapters.


	11. Satisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, Mr. Miyagi finally figured out Daniel and Johnny do more together than just teach, and offered to teach both of them his school of Okinawan karate. Now, our karate DILFs are ready to, uh, deepen their merger.
> 
> Heavy on the smut for you dirty birds, but you'll want to pay attention through the end for the modicum of plot advancement.

Daniel always gets torqued up after any kind of sparring with Johnny, and Saturday afternoon is no exception. 

After they’d spent an hour with the surprisingly-limber old sensei leading them through kata and showing both of them a few things that were, for Daniel at least, surprisingly offense-oriented, Miyagi had taken a seat, spent. He and Johnny had segued from a continuation of practice of those techniques, plus a few things he himself had picked up over the years, into a full-on sparring session with Miyagi spectating and throwing in the occasional observation. All in all, a good time in the cool winter sunshine.

Driving home, Johnny just couldn’t leave the topic of the photo alone.

“Kumiko, huh? Hot chick.”

“Shut up, Lawrence. Kumiko’s off limits.”

“Special girl?” Johnny smirks. “How special?”

“How special was Ali to you?” Daniel retorts.

“Very,” Johnny says seriously. “She was my best friend for two years, and my first. You know.”

“So, yeah, a little like that,” Daniel tells him with a quirked lip.

“No shit?” Johnny sounds surprised. “You and Ali, never?”

Daniel laughs. “A gentleman never tells. But I already told you Ali and I weren’t like that, not like you two were. And then she met that football player-“

“Yeah, yeah,” Johnny tells him. “You couldn’t keep her satisfied.”

Daniel parks the truck; after he’s pushed the door open, he calls to Johnny over the roof of the truck cab. “Asshole. Neither could you. Remember?”

Johnny is right behind him. “Come on, I’m just messing with you. I saw how you looked at that picture.”

In the elevator, Daniel blushes. “So what? That was-“

“-thirty years ago, yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” Johnny says as he unlocks the door. 

Daniel’s _still_ keyed up from the afternoon of sparring, and maybe from stored-up tension and need from the last few weeks, too - whatever it is, as soon as Johnny closes the door behind them, Daniel crowds him against the inside of the door and digs his fingers into the man’s hair, pulling him down into a kiss.

Johnny’s game - maybe he’s a little roused himself - and rounds down to commit to the kiss, opening his mouth into Daniel’s with a moan. When he feels Daniel soften and let down his guard, he shoves him away from the door and into the kitchen, pressing him against the counter.

“Do I keep _you_ satisfied?” Daniel growls, fisting his hands into Johnny’s shirt and jerking him closer.

By way of reply, Johnny pivots Daniel to face away from him and shoves him down, face-first to the stone countertop. He leans over him, his hips pressing against Daniel’s rear, his chest hot against his back, to whisper hoarsely into his neck, “Let’s find out, LaRusso.” 

Daniel startles and reflexively resists when Johnny grabs both of his wrists and positions his hands firmly at the far end of the countertop, forcing his fingers around the chamfered edge. His heart skips with anticipation as he feels how hard Johnny is, and understands what he intends to do. “Shit, Lawrence.” 

“You good?” Johnny’s voice is rough and low in his ear.

“Yeah,” he confirms, his voice unsteady. He gasps again when Johnny unbuttons and jerks his pants down his thighs. Then there’s an absence, a clatter, and the sudden feel of slicked fingers tracing his entrance. Then, the scent-

“Really? Coconut oil?”

“Quiet!” 

There’s the sound of rustling, clothing being moved aside, then Johnny holds his hips with nearly-bruising force and pushes firmly into him. He arches, cries out, and his body involuntary clamps around the sudden intrusion. 

Johnny stills and moves one warm hand to his lower back, his touch a light caress. “Okay, Daniel, relax.”

Shuddering against the hard countertop, he forces himself to breathe and give in to the stretch. 

Finally, Johnny murmurs, “There you are.” He begins to move, rocking his hips to seat himself deeply with each stroke.

Johnny’s deep voice sends a shiver through him; he can’t form words in response and he’s utterly, vocally unhinged by the time Johnny rests his sweat-dampened forehead between his shoulder blades and loudly comes inside him. He’s hoarse by the time Johnny reaches around and brings him to his own climax with his oil-slicked hand.

They rest, bodies still connected; Daniel releases his grip on the countertop's edge and relaxes into the coolness of the stone, feeling Johnny’s breathing slow down along with his own.

Johnny brushes his hair back from his neck and kisses him there with a light trace of his lips. “Shower?”

He smiles against the granite, his entire body lax. “Please.” His legs tremble when he stands.

Later, dozing through the late afternoon on top of the covers, legs intertwined, Johnny traces a light finger down Daniel’s chest. “You liked that?” he asks curiously.

“You couldn’t tell? Not clear enough? Yeah, I liked that,” he answers definitely. So much, in fact, that as he thinks about how Johnny bent him over and had his way with him, he’s inspired to run a thumb across one of Johnny’s rosy nipples, and nuzzles in to nip at his clavicle.

Johnny sighs, rolls towards him and reaches a hand down to Daniel’s length. When he finds him hard, he chuckles softly. “You’re insatiable.”

“What can I say,” Daniel laughs as he rolls off the side of the bed and roughly tugs Johnny by the shins to the edge of the mattress. Johnny loops a leg around his hips as Daniel leans over him to open the bedside drawer and retrieve the lube.

“LaRusso, come on,” he protests half-jokingly, then his breath catches when Daniel hooks one of Johnny’s heels, then the other, over his shoulders. He groans as Daniel runs his hands down Johnny’s sides, over his lean hips, along the large muscles of his legs, then lightly traces his fingers up the tender flesh of his inner thighs. “Not fair.”

“No? Too bad.” Daniel raises an eyebrow challengingly as he squirts out a generous amount of lubricant, rubs it briskly between his hands, and applies it to them both, _everywhere_. By the time he’s done, Johnny is painfully hard and panting; he jerks and cries out when Daniel pushes two well-slicked fingers into him and starts working them slowly.

“Fuck, LaRusso,” he gasps.

“Not yet,” he teases.

Johnny can only manage an inchoate moan as Daniel leans over him, pushing his knees nearly to his chest and sandwiching their slicked shafts together between their bodies. He starts a slow, circling stroke with his hips, and the friction of sensitive skin against skin sends a wave of pleasure into his spine; looking down at Johnny, he thinks the feeling is mutual.

He can do this all day, he thinks, tease him and watch him react, but when Johnny gazes up at him with unfocused blue eyes and clutches urgently at his hips, he has mercy enough to remove his fingers and inch himself into the man’s entrance. 

Between them, Johnny is less accustomed to being on the receiving end, so Daniel moves gently and slowly, giving him time to adjust. “You feel so good,” he moans, and this praise of all things dissolves the last of Johnny’s resistance. He softens, opens to him and sighs his name, and Daniel is overwhelmed by an intense wave of tenderness. As Johnny meets Daniel’s thrusts, the wet sounds of their bodies slapping together nearly pushes him over the edge; he strains to hold out just a little longer, a few moments more, until Johnny finally falls apart under him.

He releases Johnny’s ankles from his shoulders and collapses on top of him, taking comfort in the embrace of his strong arms even as Johnny struggles to catch his breath.

“I hope you’re satisfied,” Daniel murmurs into Johnny’s ear.

“Yeah, LaRusso, I’m satisfied.” Johnny looks and sounds absolutely wrecked, which does something to Daniel’s heart only a poet could name; he only knows he’s never felt as connected with another human being, nor as safe, as he does right now with this man. 

“If someone had told me a year ago where I’d be right now, I’d have called them crazy,” he muses. “I love you. I’m sorry about how I overreacted. I was so wrapped up with my own hurt feelings that I didn’t see what you were going through. I didn’t ask. I should have… well, I should have talked to you.”

Johnny clinches him closer and buries his face in Daniel’s hair. “I love you too. Maybe we’re not great at communicating,” he says, his voice strained with emotion. “Maybe we should work on that.”

“Yeah, we should,” Daniel agrees. “You know, I’m not going to be worth a damn at the bar tonight.” 

He feels Johnny shake with quiet amusement. “Glad I haven’t lost my touch.” 

Daniel swats him lightly in the arm. “So. I’ve been thinking about names, brands, whatever, for the dojos. Unless you’ve already decided on something.”

Johnny removes his face from Daniel’s hair, looking at him with interest. “You know I’m crap with names. Tell me.”

Daniel restrains the urge to make fun of the ‘Badass Enterprises’ thing again, but it takes some effort. “So here’s a couple. Valley Karate-“

“Boring. Might as well just call it ‘Karate’.”

“- I thought about that too. Just ‘Karate’, simple, with the logo. Or, Fusion Karate, because, you know, we're fusing two practices -“

“Hmm. Maybe,” Johnny says thoughtfully.

“- or, this might be too much: Tomi-Kai… Tomi is Sensei Miyagi’s village, where his karate comes from. But since ‘kai’ just means ‘organization’ or ‘society’, that would ignore your… tradition.”

Johnny listens, watching him with his calm blue eyes.

“One more. A word for ‘brothers’ in Japanese is Kyoudai. So, Kyoudai-Kai. But we would have to be careful because Kyoudai-Kai Karate could be abbreviated-“

“KKK. You’ve thought this through. We could just leave off the ‘Kai’.”

“Kyoudai Karate?” Daniel shrugs. “What do you think?”

“Let’s sleep on it.” Johnny is grinning.

“Yeah,” Daniel beams back - then his smile fades. “But what about-“

“Terry, yeah,” Johnny completes the thought. “There’s not much anyone can do. The statute of limitations ran out years ago. If any of his victims were willing to step forward - they aren’t - no one is willing to go up against someone with his wealth and power. He’s untouchable.”

“And you don’t know why he’s here, now, sponsoring the All Valley.” The question is flat, posed as a statement.

“No. No idea.”

“So, that’s it then,” Daniel murmurs, tucking his head under Johnny’s chin. 

“That’s it,” Johnny confirms, holding him almost painfully tight. “All we can do right now is move forward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags will change for the chapter that follows. Nothing _terrible_ or worthy of archive warnings.


	12. Denouement, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel wonders why he has to google weird new words every time he has a conversation these days... then, shit goes _down_.

Daniel is still shaky-kneed and distracted when he drives the truck into work around 7pm, just after twilight. As much as he wants to be focused on the Saturday night ahead, his thoughts return to the earlier hours of the day - Miyagi’s offer to teach him and Johnny more of his Okinawan karate; the photo of Kumiko and all the memories it carried; their passionate afternoon and his tumultuous emotional state, even now - and he knows it will be a struggle to maintain calm and balance tonight. The chafing he feels in certain intimate areas isn’t helping.

He inhales deeply, his heart full and chest tight, before resolutely walking through the back door. 

The kitchen is already busy, pots clattering and the crew’s voices echoing in the open space; he calls out greetings as he heads for his office to check the roster, then on to the main floor to see how service is doing. There are about double the usual number of patrons for this time of evening, a happy surprise in all respects except staffing. He looks for Laura and finally spots her up front near the hostess station.

He catches her by an elbow. “Hey, need me to call some folks in?” 

“I got two more folks on their way,” she says quickly. “Glad you’re here. Can you help behind the bar until reinforcements arrive?”

“You got it,” he nods, and heads towards the bar and Maria without further delay, suddenly glad he decided to wear his most comfortable jeans and shoes tonight.

Maria is nine months into her tenure at The Boardroom, and those months have turned her into a reasonably-capable bartender, but tonight she’s visibly struggling to keep up with the crush of orders. She greets him with open relief. 

“Oh thank god, Mr. LaRusso-“

“Come on, don’t call me that,” he chides. “What’s up next?”

It’s a solid two hours before there’s a lull in demand; the dinner crowd is turning over and being replaced by the drinkers, freeing up one of the waitstaff to take his place behind the bar. He has time to be thankful the band is a veteran of The Boardroom and managed to get themselves set up and sound-checked without his help.

Laura catches him out on the floor. “Did I already tell you I’m glad you’re here? I haven’t checked the mail, anything like that, if you have time-“

“Sure, I got it,” he promises. “What’s with the crowd?” He’s noticed a sprinkling of suits, odd for a Saturday night, and the age is skewing older than typical. Among the usual crowd of twenty- and thirty-something hipster types, he sees a lot of men in their forties and fifties, and a few women of the same age.

“Oh yeah, weird crowd, right? Some kind of nuclear safety convention at Cal State Northridge. They’ll start filtering out soon.”

“Huh.” He makes a mental note to keep an eye on the CSUN event calendar going forward. “Lucky for me you’re over your cold, or we’d really be screwed. I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

She pats him lightly on the shoulder. “All right. Looking good tonight, boss.”

…

A little over an hour later, there’s a knock on the doorframe of the open door.

“Daniel,” Laura calls in, “I think we need some help out here.”

He looks up to see her looking grim. “What’s going on?”

“A twink is trying to pass off a fake ID,” she starts.

Daniel interrupts, bemused. “Twink? Is that what the cool kids call underage people nowadays?”

She looks embarrassed. “Sorry. Um. Means a small, young-looking gay guy.”

 _Is that a slur? Or just a word? Goddamnit, why do I have to google weird new words every time I have a conversation these days? The dilf thing was bad enough._ He closes his eyes for a moment and rubs at his temples with one hand. “Ok. Not the first time we’ve seen a fake ID. What else.”

Chastened, she continues. “He’s with a much older guy who’s giving us a hard time about it. I don’t like the looks of him. He’s a creep.”

“All right. Show me the way.” He rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder for a moment as she leads him through the door and onto the floor.

The young guy isn't just ‘young’ - he looks like he belongs in high school, no more than seventeen years old to Daniel’s eyes. And he sees what Laura means about not liking the look of the other guy. He can only see him from behind, but he can see the man is much older, late fifties at least, yet fit, and well over six feet tall. While the young guy sways in his chair with glassy eyes, the older man sits ramrod-straight, an untouched drink on the table in front of him. Daniel feels the small hairs stand up on the back of his neck - and it’s been a long time since that last happened.

“I see,” he tells Laura quietly. “I’ve got it, stay in the back and keep an eye on us.”

He feels his heart rate pick up as he approaches the table - something about this guy nags at him. As he rounds to the other side of the table, he thinks the man's face looks familiar. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I need to ask you to leave,” he starts his usual spiel - then he gets a closer look at the man and comes to a halting stop. His hair is short now, more silver than brown, but his face is much the same - the thick lips, the gray-blue eyes, the lines around his mouth. This Terry Silver.

Terry is also looking at him with growing recognition followed by a broad, predatory grin. “Well, well,” he says as he rises to his 6’5” height. “If it isn’t little Danny LaRusso, all grown up.” Then, looking down at him, he smirks. “More or less.”

Terry still knows how to push his buttons; he feels an angry flush climb up his chest. "Been a long time. What are you doing back in the valley?"

“Oh, here for the convention, checking into some potential business interests,” Terry replies with a faux friendliness belied by cold eyes. “And having a little fun with my young friend here.”

“Not here, not tonight,” Daniel growls. “I don’t want trouble, I just want you out.”

“You know the kind of fun I mean,” Terry continues as though Daniel hadn’t spoken. “You remember.” His eyes crawl over Daniel’s body; he feels his bile start to rise and forces it down.

“That’s it, you’re out of here, right now,” he grits through his teeth, and places a firm hand on Terry’s shoulder, intending to direct him towards the door. But Terry moves away from the contact and pivots to face him directly, looming uncomfortably over him, far too close.

“Looking for a fight? That didn’t end well for you last time.” He follows this up with a two-handed shove that knocks Daniel back a couple of feet. For the first time, customers at a few neighboring tables turn and stare.

“Odds are better tonight than they were last time,” Daniel says coldly, but his pulse thrums wildly in his ears and his face feels stiff; he’s terrified.

Behind Terry, the twink - the _boy_ , he’s just a kid, Daniel’s rational mind corrects - gets to his feet unsteadily, stumbles, and braces himself against his chair. _Christ, has he been roofied?_ The realization drowns his fear with a flood of rage and he goes after Terry again, doing his level best to maneuver them both towards the door. Around them, men and women scatter.

Terry’s still very strong and he’s obviously continued his martial arts because he easily breaks free and strikes back at Daniel, who blocks him with an effort. They both grapple for purchase, and Daniel gets the upper hand for long enough to get Terry shoved most of the way to the front door. In the process, they overturn one of the tables; glasses shatter with a spray of liquid, and the clatter alerts the band, who stops playing, removing the cover of sound from the fight. Terry’s cackling like a lunatic, clearly enjoying the scuffle, and it’s fucking unnerving - he’s sure that’s exactly the effect Terry intends. 

But then, Terry throws him off, slaps at his own waist - the motion confuses him, _what the fuck is he up to_ \- and hits at Daniel’s chest, hard, with the side of his fist. Each hit packs an unexpected wallop: the first strike to his chest stuns him, and a second hit just below his throat knocks him bonelessly to the ground. It’s only after Terry shoves his way through the door that Daniel sees the blood.

The last thing he hears is Laura screaming.

…

It’s nearly 11pm when Johnny's phone rings; he answers without looking at the caller ID because only Daniel calls this late. “Hey babe, what’s up?”

Laura's voice on the other end is jarring. “Johnny, I’m so sorry, something’s happened, you need to come.”

He processes her words, the fact she's crying, and he’s suddenly wide awake. “What the fuck happened?”

“He was trying to get this guy out and he stabbed him, it’s bad-“

“Ok.” He tries to think through a rising haze of panic. “You called 911? Someone got him?”

“Yeah, yeah, the ambulance came, it happened so fast and I don’t know where they took him-“

“I’m on my way.” Is he? Should he be calling hospitals, the police? Does Daniel have his insurance card on him? Jesus, he has no idea. So he pulls on jeans and shoves his feet into some shoes, grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and runs for the car.

The bar is bedlam. The lights are all the way up, there’s blood pooled and smeared all over the floor just inside the front door - _oh fuck that’s too much blood_ \- and there are a couple of police officers talking to small groups of shocked-looking people. The coppery smell hits him then, and the stickiness of his shoes on the floor, and he struggles not to pass out.

Laura finds him then, looking grim. "The police can't tell me for sure, but they think he could have gone to Northridge Hospital. It’s the closest trauma center."

“Okay. Shit. I don’t know what to do - I better call his mother - I need to go-“ He doesn’t remember leaving the bar, doesn’t remember the drive to Northridge.

The hospital isn’t anything like he expects. At the main reception desk, the woman quickly confirms Daniel was brought there, that he’s being cared for, and although they can’t give him any information about his condition, the simple confirmation floods him with relief because at least he’s here and he’s alive. Then they direct him not to the emergency room, as he would have guessed, but to the trauma department. 

He’s having difficulty focusing and soon discovers he can’t remember the directions she’d given him. By following signs through labyrinthine, fluorescent-lit hallways and asking strangers for directions at least twice, he finally finds what seems to be the right place, and there, he fills out an information sheet - name of patient, name of visitor… the form asks for ‘relationship to patient’, and he stalls. He’s not next of kin, they’re not related, not married, will they even let him see him? Will they tell him what’s going on? He fills out the blank, finally, with the ambiguous answer of ‘partner’. Jesus, he has to call Lucille, but he has no idea what to tell her. He doesn’t even have her phone number. It would be in Daniel’s phone, but he has no idea where that is either. He texts Laura - “do u have lucilles number” - and gets the quick reply, “checking”.

Hours go by. He’s given a phone number and an authorization code to use to get condition updates, but the answer is always the same: “no update, someone will call you when more information is available.”

Laura finally texts him with Lucille’s phone number at midnight. He does the math - it’s 3am in Newark - and decides to wait three hours and call her at 6am her time. It’s the hardest phone call he’s ever had to make.


	13. Denouement, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny and Lucille navigate a tough week.

Someone finally calls his name. It’s morning, sometime, and he blearily stands, raises his hand. He struggles to hear and understand the information the doctor gives him: Daniel is out of surgery, stable, intubated and sedated, no visitors allowed yet. Something about bronchial and arterial damage, terms he vaguely remembers from grade school anatomy but can’t envision. 

The doctor looks around and behind him - is there anyone else here with him? 

“His mother is flying in this afternoon,” Johnny tells him woodenly. “I have to go pick her up.” He’s not sure he remembers where he parked the car - his arrival was a blur. He has to cancel today’s classes. He should tell Miyagi. Laura is blowing up his phone asking for updates. His phone is down to 8% charge. He has no idea where to start.

It must show on his face because the doctor - he doesn’t even know the man’s name, did he say? - puts a firm, reassuring hand on his upper arm, pulling him out of his panicked train of thought. “Mr. Lawrence, your friend is stabilized. He was lucky to be so close to a trauma center. He’s getting the best care here. The details will work themselves out. Okay?”

All Johnny can do is nod.

Lucille and Laura arrive like a whirlwind late that afternoon. Laura was kind enough to pick Lucille up at the airport because Johnny was in no shape to drive, and when both women arrive, they form an efficient, organized front that boggles his mind. How the fuck do they function like this? It’s like a couple of Army generals have stepped in to marshal the troops. 

Lucille, sternly armed with a notebook and a pen, makes lists and takes notes. Followup MRI in the morning? She writes it down. Medications? She writes those down too, along with the names of every medical professional they speak with. When they learn he’ll be able to have visitors soon, no more than two at a time, it’s Lucille who archly informs the receiving nurse that she and Johnny want to see Daniel as quickly as possible. 

Laura brought a charger for his phone, plus sandwiches and drinks for all three of them, and tells him she taped up a sign at the dojo with a notice that the afternoon’s classes are cancelled. Then she hugs him, bringing him to uncharacteristic tears. Goddamnit, he thinks, he’s supposed to be the strong one here, the one who solves problems and gets things done; instead, he’s the one falling apart.

“Have you slept at all, big guy?” Laura asks him; he shakes his head in the negative. “Ok, after you see him, you need to go home and get some sleep. You’re no good to anyone like this.”

“Laura, what happened? Did they find the guy?”

She shakes her head. “He was some rando. He ran out the door right after he did it. He wasn’t running a tab and hadn’t paid, so we don’t have his name. He had a young guy with him, underage, messed up on drugs. They took him away in another ambulance - for all I know he’s here somewhere. I’m sure the police are doing everything they can.”

He thinks about all the bribes Terry Silver employed with local PD back in the eighties and has his doubts, but keeps them to himself. “What about the bar? What happens?”

She slumps. “Closed tonight while the police collect evidence and take photos, and we’re always closed Mondays. So much cleanup,” she sobs. “Shit. Sorry.”

Finally, a problem he can solve. “We have a vendor who does, uh, biological cleaning. I’ll call them in,” he offers, and Laura’s abject relief lets him feel like he’s done something useful.

Their first visit is not what he expected. He'd been warned Daniel would be intubated and sedated, but seeing him in the ICU bed, surrounded by monitors and festooned with tubes and bags of fluid - well, he’s alive. It could have been much worse. Johnny stands stiffly at the door while Lucille speaks softly to her son, feeling out of place and helpless. Afterwards, he takes her to the condo, sets her up in the same pullout bed she slept in over Christmas, and goes straight to bed himself. 

Tomorrow, they were told, trauma staff will wake him up and try to extubate him.

...

Monday morning is another frantic whirlwind, and he’s thankful again for Laura’s wise advice to rest while he had the chance. Johnny forces Lucille to eat something, in turn forcing himself to eat something, and the ritual of preparing breakfast is a panacea for both of them. After he drops her off at Northridge, he stops by the Reseda dojo to email his students and explain all classes are cancelled until Wednesday due to a family emergency. He calls the office and briefly explains to his assistant, Marla, what’s happened and why he needs to be away, at least for the day. Finally, he visits Mr. Miyagi for the second most difficult conversation he’s ever had to have.

One foot forward, then the other, he tells himself to get through all of the things he needs to do. One hour at a time.

…

He and Lucille are called in after Daniel is awake, extubated, and able to speak - and find there’s already a detective in the room, interviewing him about the events of two nights prior. Johnny winces at the hoarseness in his voice, winces again as it becomes apparent that he’s out of breath just from answering questions. But it’s Daniel’s responses to the detective’s questions that knock the breath right out of him, because it was fucking Terry Silver who did this. He went up against Terry alone and nearly died.

Johnny quietly steps out and calls his lawyer. He wants to know where that fucker is, _right now_.

…

When Johnny finally gets time alone with him, it takes everything he has to be gentle and careful when his emotions demand he touch every part of him he can reach, assure himself he’s really there, alive and breathing. He settles for clasping one of Daniel’s arms with one hand and resting the other on the reassuring warmth of his thigh.

“Baby, I was so worried,” he starts, and chokes up. He wants to talk about all the wasted time behind them and how close he'd come to losing him now, when they'd finally found their way to each other… but the words just aren't there, and maybe, right now, Daniel doesn't need to think about how close he'd come.

Daniel rests his other hand on Johnny’s. “‘S’ok... sorry you have to be-” 

“Quiet,” Johnny barks, then laughs a little at Daniel’s expression. “Fuck. Sorry. Don’t apologize to me. I signed up for this. To be here with you.”

They both sit quietly for a moment with that declaration.

“The kid?” When Johnny looks confused, he clarifies, “Terry roofied him in my goddamned bar...”

Daniel _would_ ask after the kid first - and it makes him want to cry. “Yeah, he’s safe. He gave his statement to the police. It was too late to stop Terry from leaving the country.”

“Where?”

“That night, he took his corporate jet to China. No extradition treaty between China and the U.S. Goddamn it, I wish I could get my hands on him, tear him to pieces myself.” But when he looks over, Daniel has fallen asleep.

Before he leaves, a kind nurse points out a large plastic bag of Daniel's ‘personal effects’ closed up in a cabinet and suggests he take them home ‘before they start to smell’. Too confused to ask in the moment, he shrugs and takes the bag with him to the condo. When he opens it, he is shocked to find Daniel’s blood-soaked clothes and spattered shoes inside. His wallet and cellphone are also there, protected by their own ziploc bag. He throws the clothes away in the outside dumpster and plugs the dead cellphone in to charge.

…

Tuesday is tough. The rehab people force Daniel to sit up much of the day, and stand and walk every few hours. It’s important for him to be up and moving as much as possible, Johnny and Lucille are told, but combined with the respiratory therapist’s reminders to do his breathing exercises, the pain from the wounds and surgical incisions, and the continual sleep interruptions all night, Daniel finally loses his shit and roars at everyone to get the fuck out.

Johnny is rattled and upset; he feels even worse when Lucille pulls him aside to offer counsel. “Dan senior had days like this when he was sick,” she tells him. “He felt weak, you might say emasculated. There were times he couldn’t stand for anyone to see him, not his son, not even me, and we’d been married for twelve years. It will get better.”

“How are you handling this so well?” he asks her. “I’m losing my mind. I feel helpless.”

“Oh kid. I’ve just been through it before. And the only way out is through. I heard that in a movie once and it stuck with me.” She gives him a toothy LaRusso grin and pats his hand comfortingly.

Johnny leaves Daniel’s cellphone and charger with Lucille and takes the rest of the afternoon away from the hospital. He escapes to the distraction of his office, working with the marketing people and the contractors, and planning out a course of training for the other locations’ instructors.

…

Wednesday is worse. Daniel, despondent, refuses all visits. For the first time, Lucille's brave front crumbles. Johnny has never been comfortable around other peoples’ emotions - his own are baffling enough - and he has no idea how to comfort her. He finally decides to take her home, ply her with wine and takeout veal parmigiana, and settle her in front of the distraction of the Hallmark channel on tv for the afternoon. 

Then, he goes in to teach the Wednesday after-school class alone. Someone saw the story on the news and messaged the rest, so it’s a somber group that greets him, but a group wise enough not to ask too many questions. He has Aisha warm them up as usual, runs them through katas, and sends them home a little early.

Aisha follows him into his office and closes the door behind them at the end of class. _Bold girl_ , he thinks, assuming she wants to know what this means for her participation in that Saturday’s open. Aisha surprises him.

“Sensei Lawrence, I'll help this weekend at the open. You don’t have to worry about that. Is Sensei LaRusso going to be okay? When can we see him?”

 _These kids. When did they go all sweet on him? Kreese would have kicked her ass._ He struggles to maintain his stoic front. “Good decision. I promise you’ll learn as much helping me as you would competing. LaRusso will be ok. It might be a while before he’s back. You keep your chin up, okay?”

Her eyes water but she holds it together, making him proud. “Okay. Thank you, sensei. Tell him we miss him?”

That does it; he gives in and hugs the girl. “Yeah. I’ll tell him.” _Kreese would kick my ass for showing weakness in front of a student like this._ Then he decides Kreese’s ghost can kiss his ass.

…

Thursday starts out rough - Johnny and Lucille both have wine hangovers, and Daniel begins the day with an unpleasant procedure, a scope down the throat to confirm his bronchial repairs are healing. For the first time, Johnny is made to understand the nature of the damage and how lucky his boyfriend is to be alive, and he has to step outside for a while to clear his head. 

The outcome is positive; if his progress continues, he might be released this weekend. The good news buoys Daniel’s mood considerably, and Lucille and Johnny are each able to spend a few minutes with him. When Daniel tries to apologize, Johnny just rolls his eyes - “You get an asshole pass this week, LaRusso” - and hugs him _very_ carefully. 

That afternoon, he forces Lucille out of the hospital for some daylight and fresh air, because as strong as she’s been, he can see the stress of the week weighing her down. He takes her on a tour of their daily life - takes her to his office and introduces her around, takes her to the Reseda dojo and shows her the old photos on their office wall, takes her to visit Miyagi, and, after some debate, takes her to Daniel’s bar for a drink and some wings. The place is cleaned up, reopened, and operating almost as though nothing had happened, with nearly the normal crowd enjoying an after-work happy hour.

…

Friday, Miyagi arrives for a short, private visit with Daniel. On his way out, he catches Johnny coming in. 

“Tomorrow morning, you come early, train,” he orders - it’s definitely not a request. 

“Yes, sensei,” Johnny agrees.

…

Saturday feels like a marathon. He drops Lucille at the hospital early, then drives to Miyagi’s for a training session that is half kata, half meditation. Johnny’s never been a meditating kind of guy - Kreese actively discouraged that Asian metaphysical bullshit, an attitude younger Johnny adopted - but, he’s surprised to find that it really helps. He feels centered, balanced; he can think clearly for the first time all week, and it feels good. “I could have used that thirty years ago,” he tells Miyagi lightly; the old man rewards him with a grunt and a pat on the back.

His next stop is the open tournament. His little team of five - Hawk is still MIA - is in better spirits today than they were Wednesday or yesterday, and for that, he’s grateful. He splits Aisha off with the younger two kids while he focuses on coaching Kev and Jake; they perform well, with Bert making it to the second round, and Jake to the final round. Best of all, Aisha warms to her role as assistant coach, accompanying her charges with a spring in her step and doing a damned good coaching job. They close out the afternoon with a high-five and a grin.

His last stop is Northridge where, for the first time, he finds Daniel taking one of his mandatory walks around the nurse’s station, IV pole rolling along beside him. “Heyyy Lawrence,” he calls, his voice strong, and Johnny glows to hear him sound like himself. “I’m getting out of here tomorrow! Are you gonna take me home?”

“Hell yes,” he confirms. “It’s about time you got off your ass, LaRusso.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may slow down a bit in pace - we've almost caught up to where I'm writing in real time...


	14. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not easy to return to the land of the living.

“I can walk to the car, I don’t need this thing,” Daniel protests for the third or fourth time as he’s wheeled through the front door into the late morning sunshine. Days of his mother’s hovering, the changing of dressings and the bag of prescriptions, pages of aftercare instructions and the paperwork he’s expected to sign, the fact he hasn’t been able to wash his hair in a week - it all makes him want to shout at someone, hit something, slam a door, anything to blow off built-up frustration. 

The nurse’s aide pushing his wheelchair huffs. “Everyone says the same thing,” he says. “Ain’t happenin’, man. Hospital policy. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

The aide wheels him right up to the curb like an invalid, and he has to sit there in the wheelchair, waiting, until Johnny pulls up to the curb in the Audi. His ma is already in the back seat, peering worriedly at him through the window. Johnny leaps out of the driver’s side and dashes around the front of the car to wrench open the passenger door, and when the aide offers to help him stand, he shakes him off. “All right, man,” the aide holds his hands up in surrender, retreating with the chair. Daniel catches Johnny giving the aide an apologetic look, and it pisses him off more than it should.

When Johnny reaches over from the driver’s seat a minute later to help him with his seatbelt, he waves him off - then discovers it hurts too much to raise his arm far enough up and back to pull the belt down, so he needs the help after all. “Fuck,” he announces.

Behind him, ma disapproves of his language: “Daniel Ralph LaRusso Junior!” 

Johnny reaches over him again. “Relax, LaRusso,” he gruffs.

Daniel closes his eyes, rubs his temples with the hand attached to the side that _doesn’t_ hurt like a motherfucker, and tries to appreciate the fact he’s finally out of the hospital. “Okay,” he says, defeated.

The first thing he aches to do when they reach the condo is take a real shower. Johnny closes the master suite door - his mother is quite happily clattering around back in the kitchen - and helps him undress, even gets in the shower with him. The erotic potential of being naked and wet with his boyfriend is overtaken by the unpleasant reality - he’s woozy from fatigue and medication, he’s nauseated, and everything hurts. Johnny has to help him wash and rinse his hair, and as weak as he feels, it is comforting to be cared for like this, half-dozing in the luxury of the hot water. Johnny carefully washes around each healing wound, and his touch feels strange on the damaged flesh, combining the numbness and painful prickling of a limb that’s fallen asleep. It doesn’t even feel like his own skin.

“How do I come back from this?” he moans. “I’m so fucked up.”

Johnny pulls him in to lean against his chest in a careful embrace. “I know you, LaRusso. You’ll be back to 100% in no time. You’ll see.”

While he knows rationally that this is true, it feels like an impossibility as Johnny helps him dry off, wraps him in one of his bathrobes, and bundles him into bed. All he’s done is walk from the car to the elevator, and from the elevator to the bedroom, and he’s exhausted. Soon enough, he passes out.

He wakes up several hours later to the sound of Johnny and his ma laughing together on the back patio. The quality of the light tells him it’s near sunset and he’s slept through the entire afternoon. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants under the robe he’s wearing to join them, and Johnny hurries out of his chair to help Daniel settle into it. For once in his life, he accepts the help without resistance.

“Danny,” he winces at his ma’s name for him, “Johnny and I have been sharing such great stories out here. Are you hungry, sweetie? I can rustle you up some food.”

“I’m not hungry, ma,” he replies. 

“You gotta eat, kiddo-“

“Ma,” he says sharply. Johnny frowns at his tone and he feels immediately guilty. “Ok, I’m sorry. I’m sure I’ll be hungry in the morning. What do you two have planned tomorrow? Johnny, you’re going into the office-“

“No, I took tomorrow off,” he corrects him. “We thought, if you’re feeling up to it, we could get some lunch out.” The unspoken thought: _we’re supposed to keep you active and moving around, whether you feel like it or not._

He surprises them both. “I’d like that. And I want to stop by the bar.”

Johnny blanches. “Already? Are you sure?”

“That’s a great idea,” his ma interjects, “get back on that horse.” Daniel shoots her a grateful look; Johnny stares at them both as though they’re speaking in tongues.

“It’s my livelihood. I have to go back." _I have to be able to set foot in the place._ "The sooner the better. And I want to go to the dojo and let the kids see I’m all right.”

Judging by Johnny’s expression, he thinks it’s a terrible idea, but he holds his tongue. “If you feel up to it, sure. They’d would love to see you. Aisha asks about you every day, today included.”

Daniel feels a pang; he misses them too. He must get back on his feet, the sooner the better. The All Valley is two weeks away, and he and Johnny have so much to do.

…

The next day, after breakfast, Johnny drives him to The Boardroom in the Audi, leaving Lucille behind at the condo. They park behind the building where Daniel usually parks his truck, and more out of habit than anything, almost on autopilot, Daniel is out of the car, up the few steps and unlocking the back door as though this was any other day. Johnny is left to hurriedly follow him through the door into the dark, vacant kitchen.

Once in the building, Daniel slows down, suddenly reluctant. He inspects the kitchen - all in order - and steps into his little office, which is really Laura’s office these days, to peek at the inbound email and the schedule for the upcoming week. The ‘unread email’ count is daunting; Laura has never been inclined to the administrative business of replying to emails and managing the social media accounts, preferring to focus on the hands-on work and the activities directly supporting the operation of the bar, like scheduling, ordering and accounts payable. He scans through the subject lines, doesn’t see anything that requires immediate attention, and decides he’d better stop postponing the inevitable. 

He pushes through the doors between the kitchen and the floor area, and finds Johnny standing in the center of the floor, looking towards the front door with an absent frown. His hair is shorter and a little darker in adulthood, but his firm jaw and straight nose are the same. The worry lines around his eyes are new, and Daniel feels a pang of responsibility for that.

The other thing Daniel notices are the new surveillance cameras mounted at multiple points - aimed at the front door, the rear door, covering the floor, the bar, _behind_ the bar. He walks to the rear corner to stand beneath one, looks up to study it, how it’s been professionally hardwired into power, then looks to Johnny. “Did you know about this?”

Johnny shrugs evasively, confirming his suspicion. “Laura picked them out.”

He sets that aside and walks the few paces to the table where Terry Silver and his companion had been sitting. He chooses the chair where the younger man - the boy - had been sitting that night over a week ago. Johnny takes the other chair; Daniel knows Johnny has no idea he’s sitting in Terry Silver’s chair, and he doesn’t tell him.

If it were a normal day, he’d offer Johnny a bloody mary. But then, if it were a normal day, he probably wouldn’t feel like death warmed over.

“How old was the kid,” he asks. “Do you know?”

Johnny shakes his head. “Under eighteen, that’s all I know. He’s a minor, identity not released.”

“Do you know what ‘twink’ means? That’s the word Laura used.”

Johnny’s mouth twitches in amusement. “Yeah, I know the word.”

Daniel doesn’t return his smile. “It started right here,” he explains, standing up. Then he paces the path they’d taken across the room that night, coming to a stop where he’d fallen. “I got him this far. I almost had him. We knocked over that table… here, he hit me with the side of his fist.” He mimes the strikes on his own chest. “I didn’t know he had the knife. It didn’t even hurt, just stunned me, knocked the breath right out of me.”

Johnny blanches and stands, crosses the room to come near before stopping short of a boundary only he can see. He stands flatfooted in his creased jeans and blue t-shirt, looking at the floor.

Daniel asks, “Do you think he’ll come back?”

Johnny’s eyes dart up to meet his. “He’d be insane to come back. He fled to China to avoid extradition. He’s a wanted man.”

“He _is_ insane. He tried to kill me in front of an entire room full of people,” Daniel mused, slumping into a chair at another table, suddenly exhausted. “Cameras wouldn’t have made any difference. Why does this shit happen to me? Over and over.”

Johnny just shakes his head.

“I’m ok,” Daniel says, though he’s really not. “Let’s go home?”

…

Lucille is out when they arrive; Daniel guesses she’s probably taking a walk on the beach, something she’d enjoyed doing when she visited over Christmas just a month ago. Johnny ushers him to the bedroom, knowing without being told that he’s exhausted, and hands him the small handful of pills he’s due to take at noon - pain medication, antibiotic - with a glass of water. 

“Care for some company?” Johnny asks him as Daniel crawls into bed.

“Yeah,” Daniel replies. “You didn’t sign up for this, Johnny. To have to nursemaid me through something like this.”

“I’m in,” Johnny assures him as he lays down beside him. “You know that.”

He’s sure it’s medically contraindicated - but then, the respiratory therapist had told him several times that the sooner he returns to his normal activities, the faster he’ll recover and the stronger he’ll be. More, he craves physical contact and confirmation he’s still alive, vital, and wanted. When Johnny settles in, lying on his side to face him, Daniel reaches up to cradle his jaw, leaning forward to nip gently at Johnny’s enticing lower lip with his teeth.

His boyfriend hesitates. “I’m not sure this is-“

“It’s a great idea,” he completes the sentence, his eyes still on Johnny’s mouth. Johnny searches his eyes worriedly, then leans in to join their mouths for a careful kiss. Daniel moves his hand to the nape of Johnny’s neck, using his tongue to encourage him to open his mouth, and Johnny softens into him. Their embrace picks up heat until, inhibitions forgotten, they’re rutting against each other through their clothes.

“There was, you remember,” Johnny struggles to string together a sentence, then resorts to pushing down Daniel’s sweatpants and his own jeans to demonstrate what he has in mind, rubbing their lengths together. 

Daniel sighs, looking down Johnny’s strong frame to where their bodies meet. “Yeah, I remember. That was-”

Johnny retrieves the lubricant and uses it on both of them; the result is a slippery friction that builds urgent heat in Daniel’s spine, and he clinches Johnny’s hips between his thighs and bites into his shoulder. Johnny moans, shifts his position to push insistently into him, and Daniel sobs in pleasure and relief.

...

After Daniel succumbs to exhausted, post-coital sleep, Johnny gets cleaned up and settles into the kitchen to prepare some lunch, expecting Lucille to return at any time.

When Lucille opens the door to the condo some time later with sandy feet and windblown hair, she looks more at peace than she has all week, and Johnny takes a moment to silently congratulate himself for successfully calming down two LaRussos in a single day. Over the stressful several days, he and Daniel’s mother have developed a comfortable rapport, and she joins him in the kitchen without fanfare to lay out plates, glasses and utensils for two.

“He’s sleeping. He did all right with it,” he tells her.

"He's a tough one," she responds. “Johnny, are you doing all right? This has been a lot to deal with.”

“I should be asking you. He’s your kid.”

“I’m his mother. You and he just moved in together two months ago.”

Oh, is it one of those conversations, some New Jersey variant of asking what his intentions are with her son? But no, he thinks as he looks at her genuine expression of concern. She’s actually concerned for _him_.

“Lucille, I’m fine. We’re fine. Maybe you would help me with something, though.”

That piques her interest. “Help with what?”

He pours soup into bowls and dishes out salad. “I’ve been trying to get him to have his knee taken care of. I don’t know if you know how often it bothers him. He won’t hear anything about it from me. Maybe he would listen to you. I’d like to -“ _shit, this is awkward,_ “- make that right.” He ducks further discomfort by carrying the food-laden plates out to the table.

She follows with their drinks, and they both sit down. “I don’t know that he’d listen to me. He’s always been hard-headed, that kid. Is this a guilt thing for you?”

He’s not terribly accustomed to inspecting his own motivations for what he does, but he gives it a try. “Sure, that’s part of it. And I hate to see him in pain.”

Her expression softens into a smile that’s almost sad. “My son has always been stubborn, doesn’t like to accept anything from anyone. You and he are going to have to figure that one out on your own.”

“Well, you’re no help at all,” he says with a quirk of his lip. “We’ll be okay here. Your flight leaves Wednesday morning?”

She nods. “Noon. I know you’ll be okay… and who would have predicted that?”

Indeed.


	15. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel returns to the dojo and reintegrates into work at the bar, making some needed changes and learning some new things in the process. Johnny’s been making some changes, too.

Daniel wakes up around three, under the covers and pantsless, which would be awkward if the bedroom door weren’t closed. He relishes being home in his own bed, his rest uninterrupted by the visits of nurses and therapists, smelling Johnny’s scent in their sheets, and feeling the subtle soreness of their morning together. A less pleasurable soreness in his chest and ribs reminds him it’s probably time for the next round of pills; undecided about taking them, he decides to shower instead.

The sight that greets him in the mirror after his shower is difficult to face; he’s been avoiding looking at the bruises and the angry, healing cuts, and it doesn’t help that he hasn’t shaved in over a week. His appearance makes him question what Johnny could possibly see in him like this. Even above the collar of his t-shirt, the… damage… is all too apparent.

He gives up on the idea of shaving as it requires far more effort and fine motor control than he has at his disposal, instead resorting to the clippers to bring his facial hair down to stubble. The gray is starting to show at his temples, but he certainly can’t manage the effort needed to color his roots right now. It is what it is - vanity must give way to necessity, at least for now. Maybe it’s a little silly to care about all that anyway, he thinks. He and Johnny had already lost so many years before finding their way to each other, and he had come so close to losing it all to some ridiculous vendetta he’d never been a party to nor fully understood… and Johnny had shown him that morning, and every day prior, that none of the other stuff mattered, that they were in this together.

He settles on jeans and a quarter-zip athletic top that provides satisfactory coverage, taking a moment to mourn his favorite comfortable jeans that were ruined the night of the attack. He almost looks normal, though he doesn't feel it, when he leaves their bedroom at four to find his ma and his partner relaxing companionably on the sofa. It’s nearly unnerving how well they get along now that his mother is over the shock of all of it - Daniel’s gayness, Johnny’s presence, no grandchildren… he’s put them both through so much.

Lucille’s eyes light up when she sees him. “Hey, baby boy, how are you feeling?” she crows. 

“Ma, I’m good,” he smiles back at her. “I’m starving. Have you had anything to eat?”

He and Johnny meet in the kitchen, but Johnny shoves him into a chair while he pulls leftovers out of the refrigerator. “Save your energy for class. And you’re not sparring or doing any work on your feet, I don’t care how good you feel.”

“I know,” Daniel acknowledges, and he can tell that surprises him. “I know my limitations.”

“Yeah, okay, LaRusso,” Johnny says with a sideways grin. “Just wait until-“

Lucille shushes him from the living room - _that’s weird_ , he thinks. 

“You’re good? You’re up for going?”

“Yeah, I gotta get back out there,” he insists; Johnny gives him a concerned look, but says nothing.

Johnny drives them both, again, and that feels unusual because they usually drive separately, arrive separately, leave separately. Had they still been in the closet, Daniel thinks, this would have blown it, but of course their cover had already been blown. It's a strange thought, being suddenly ‘out’ when he’d kept so much of himself a secret for so many years. For Johnny, it must be even more disorienting - how had he explained his absence from work last week, or introduced Lucille to his employees at last week's impromptu office ‘tour’? This is new territory for both of them.

When they arrive at the Reseda dojo, he can see Johnny’s taken the rebranding much farther than he would have imagined. The signage is updated to read Kyoudai Karate, the road sign is emblazoned with the new name, so is the sign over the door, the lettering on the glass… and there’s the intertwined bonsai and cobra, larger than life.

“How did you do all this,” Daniel marvels, flabbergasted.

“I have staff,” Johnny said. “I point them in a direction, they take care of the hard stuff. All of our locations are updated.”

“I’m…” this evidence of their path forward made concrete leaves him bereft of words. “John.”

His partner looks at him nakedly, eyes soft, and the upward curl of the corners of his lips launches Daniel right back into history and his memory of Johnny’s smirk the first time Daniel stepped into Kreese’s dojo. At the time, the expression felt like a threat - but this expression, now, it’s a promise. “Are you ready for this? Think you’re up for it?”

This time, he doesn’t just mean the Monday class, or even the dojo. He means the question to be about more than that; the way he’s intertwining their lives on every front has made that clear. And now Johnny’s eyes dart to his lips, then his neck, his eyes, back to his mouth…

No longer caring who sees, Daniel leans in to the kiss Johnny offers, resting a hand on Johnny’s chest and closing his eyes to focus on the feel of his heartbeat through the pads of his fingers. When they part, he opens his eyes to find Johnny still gazing back at him.

“I’m up for it with you,” he tells Johnny with conviction. “Johnny, what have you told the kids about this?” He waves his hand, vaguely indicating the dojo, the two of them, himself…

“They’ll keep the Cobra Kai name through the All Valley, then they know it’s changing,” Johnny says. “We haven’t really talked about _why_.”

“Maybe that’s for the best,” he starts to say, but he’s interrupted by a knock on the window. He jumps, pulling his hand away from his partner’s body as though burned, and turns to look through his car window to see Hawk glaring back at him.

“Huh,” he huffs in surprise. “Has he-“

“No. It’s been two weeks since anyone saw him,” Johnny completes his thought.

“Well.” Daniel opens his door and stands, slowly, interested in why Hawk knocked on his window rather than Johnny’s if he’s knocking on windows at all. “Eli.”

The kid looks nervous; Daniel isn’t sure if he’s ever seen someone wring his hands quite as literally as Hawk is doing, standing there alone in the parking lot of the Reseda strip mall. He won’t even meet Daniel’s eyes. “Mr. LaRusso, can I talk to you?”

Johnny has exited his side of the Audi and is watching Hawk suspiciously. “Whatever you have to say,” he starts, and Daniel hears the fierce protectiveness in his voice even as he sees the kid flinch.

“Johnny, it’s all right,” he calms, still watching Hawk’s hazel eyes. The kid is scared, and confused. “Let’s go inside.”

The boy nods and follows them both into the dojo, then into their little office. Johnny follows behind Hawk and closes the door behind them.

“I- Mr. LaRusso-“ he starts haltingly, and his eyes dart towards Johnny.

Daniel sits in one of the two chairs and glares at Johnny until, with a sigh, he settles into the other chair, leaving Hawk standing awkwardly by the desk. “Whatever it is, Mr. Moskowitz, it can’t be that bad,” he suggests.

To everyone’s shock, Hawk, _Eli_ , bursts into tears. “It’s my fault,” he finally gets out between sobs. “I told him where you would be.”

So it wasn’t a coincidence that Terry went to The Boardroom that night. It was planned. Daniel grabs at Johnny’s arm to stop him from reacting physically, heedless of how it might look to the kid. “Tell me what you mean. The whole story.”

“He talked to me after that first tournament,” he starts, looking over at Johnny apprehensively. “He said you weren’t the real Cobra Kai, that you had taken the name from him. And he said he could train me. Turn me into a winner.”

Johnny roars. “You little piece of shit! Do you have any idea what you did? Do you know how close he came to-?”

Daniel strikes the desk with the flat of his hand. “Goddamnit, stop,” he bursts hoarsely at Johnny, who stares back at him in shock. “You mean Terry. That’s why you took off in the middle of class, because of what he told you, and maybe you were unhappy with... some other things that were going on here.”

“Yeah, I…” Eli looks uncertainly at Johnny, who’s glaring at him.

Daniel sighs. “Johnny, can we-“

“Yeah, sure,” Johnny says flatly, then stares at the kid. “Moskowitz, if you-“

“ _John._ ”

Johnny abruptly stands and stalks through the door, slamming it behind him.

“Fuck.” Daniel sighs. “Are _you_ all right? Terry is… not a nice guy.”

“It got weird,” the kid confirms. “That’s when I figured it out. He’s a fucking creeper faggot. Uh. Sorry?”

 _No need to google that one._ “You’re ok, that’s what matters right now. He had you come to train with him, he asked you about us, you told him some things. Is that it?” 

“Yeah.” Eli shrugs.

Daniel watches him try to reconstruct his tough-guy ‘flip the script’ facade in real time. “Did he have anyone else with him?”

“I saw a couple of guys at his house sometimes.” A look of disgust passes across his face, and something about that washes Daniel with relief. He decides not to inspect why too closely.

“We didn’t tell you about the old Cobra Kai senseis. I didn’t tell you who and what Terry was, so you couldn’t have known.” _I failed you. I didn’t tell you what you needed to know._ “Hawk, he’s tricky. Manipulative. When I was your age, he fooled me too. It took me longer to figure it out than it took you.”

Eli’s brittle shell crumbles. “I’m sorry I told him where you work, Mr. LaRusso. I never meant for you to get hurt. I didn’t know what he was going to do.”

Daniel can feel and see that everything Eli says is genuine; nevertheless, he holds deep anger, fairly or unfairly, at the kid. He sits with that feeling for a long moment, considering. He’s been in the kid’s position, with less dire consequences - but then again, the consequences for Mr. Miyagi were very dire. And, unlike this kid, _he_ never had the guts to go to Miyagi and tell him what was happening. How can he hold Eli to a standard he himself never met?

It feels unfair to have to forgive, now, when he looks like Frankenstein, feels like shit and can’t even wash his own hair, but, that’s where he is.

“I forgive you. I’ll be ok. You couldn’t have known.”

The kid sits miserably in the chair for a minute, still not meeting his eyes, before scraping his seat backwards and pushing his way through the door. Eli very much reminds Daniel of himself at fifteen or sixteen, all temper and no sense.

Johnny appears in the doorway a minute later, dressed out in his gi and still looking pissed off. “You ok?”

He nods in the affirmative. “You were pretty hard on him,” he points out.

“He told Terry Silver where to find you,” Johnny growls. “He’s lucky I didn’t wring his fucking neck.”

“He had no idea who Terry was,” Daniel reminds him, slumped back in his chair. “Terry is very good at finding and exploiting weakness, and he went after one of our students. Maybe we should have warned them about Terry when we learned he was-” 

“Well, he’s not back now. He’s gone,” Johnny says vehemently. “There’s nothing to tell. You don’t have to-“

“-talk about this? But they’re gonna ask why it happened. They’re going to ask tonight.”

“We just have to keep an eye on them.”

“I know. I’ll be there.”

“At the All Valley? You are not going to the fucking All Valley, LaRusso. You are in no fucking shape-“

“I’ll decide if I’m ready,” Daniel roars - but that makes him cough, which hurts badly, enough to bring tears to his eyes. He braces his arms around his ribs and curls forward. It doesn’t help that he skipped his last dose of pain medication so he could be sharp here, this evening. “Goddamnit.”

Johnny is suddenly on his knees, at his feet, grasping at his arms. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Okay? We can talk about it later.” He feels Johnny lean his head against his chest as though listening to him breathe - and maybe he is. 

He loosens his arms and cradles Johnny’s head in both hands. “Okay. Johnny, students are going to show up any minute...”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Johnny mumbles against his chest, but he relaxes his grip on Daniel and sits back on his knees. Daniel lets his own hands fall to Johnny’s arms. “I’m sorry. If I’m overprotective, it’s out of love. We’ve already wasted so much time.”

Daniel’s heart flutters and he feels a surge of physical desire that verges on the uncomfortable. He has to shake his head at himself, his own insatiability - he’s not sure he’ll ever get enough of Johnny. “I love you too.”

They are granted another ten minutes of solitude to emotionally pull themselves together before Aisha, the first to arrive, comes through the door. She catches sight of Daniel and _runs_ at him, full-tilt, to give him an enthusiastic hug.

“Careful!” Johnny shouts, and Aisha jumps back as though stung.

“It’s all right,” Daniel tells her, and he can’t restrain a pained smile. “I missed you, too.”

“What happened? Are you okay? Why did that guy-“

“Aisha!” Johnny barks.

“Johnny,” Daniel barks, though more softly. “We’re okay here.” Then, quietly, to Aisha, “I won’t be sparring with you guys for a while, but I’ll be okay. Why don’t you get started with setup? We’ll talk a little more when the other students get here.”

She gets to work; Johnny looks at him askance. “What are you going to say?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Answer their questions honestly. Then focus on training. Less than two weeks to go.” Then, with a smile, “Relax, Aisha is our only hugger.”

“Besides me.” Johnny hugs him, right there in the open.

“Jesus, Lawrence.” He laughs gently.

…

…

His first Saturday night back at the bar, a week after his release and two weeks after the attack, is more difficult than he expected. He’s been back on other nights that week, but he’d arrived early and left early, avoiding the high-demand times because, in his compromised physical and mental state, he gets in the way more than he helps. As warm and welcoming as the staff has been, he can sense their concern, and some seem uncomfortable around him these days; he supposes that will take some time to work itself out. Anyone who was there that night is dealing with their own trauma, and Laura, especially, is rattled. He isn’t sure of the right way to handle any of it.

Tonight, he tries to keep something like his normal routine; greet the kitchen staff, spend some time on correspondence in the office, watch how table and bar service is running, help the band set up - although where he used to get hands-on, now he just directs. “You have to use your words now,” Laura laughed at him Friday night. “You might think about writing something up, too. Instructions. Crazy idea, right?”

He manages, and physically he’s stronger and better able to handle the work every day, but it all feels distant, as though he’s watching someone else go through the motions. His ears hum, the lights glare strangely, and as the bar gets more populated and louder, his chest feels tighter and his breaths sparse until, finally, his head swims and he sways on his feet. He looks across the floor at Laura, who meets his eyes with an odd expression of her own, and flees to the safety and relative quiet of his office, closing the door behind him.

After about ten minutes, he calls Johnny, who breathlessly picks up the phone as though he’d had to run to answer it. “Is everything okay?”

His boyfriend’s tense voice at the other end reminds Daniel that the last Saturday night call he got was when Terry stabbed him. Everything he does trips over that event somehow, digs it up and brings it back into the light. He can’t get away from it, not at the bar, the dojo, at home, in the mirror, with the pain of every breath he draws. Without thinking, he fingers the raised, pink scar across the base of his neck - a new nervous habit.

“Yeah, everything is fine. I’m just… checking in,” he explains weakly.

“You never call just to ‘check in’,” Johnny replies, pauses, then continues, more gently. “How’s the crowd tonight?”

“It’s pretty good. Loud.” He’s quiet, not sure what to say or whether to say anything about what he’s struggling with.

“Do you need some company?”

Daniel sighs. “No. I mean, you’re welcome any time, you know I love to see you… but I have to do this on my own.” There, he’s getting closer to the truth. “It’s hard.”

Silence at the other end; for a minute, they listen to each other breathe.

“Okay, I’d better go,” Daniel says at the same time Johnny tells him, “I’m right here if you need me.” They both laugh before they disconnect, and he re-enters the roar of the bar a little stronger than he was.

He finds Laura at the front. “How are you doing?” he asks curiously. When her eyes flit to the scar at his throat, then to the floor, he knows the answer without being told: not well. It makes him wonder how she’s handled the other busy nights, or the previous weekend. He hasn’t asked - and now’s not the time.

“Oh, you know,” she says vaguely. Then, impulsively, she pulls him into a hug, drawing looks from nearby customers. “Maria put in her notice tonight. ‘Personal reasons’.”

He’d noticed her absence; Laura had to call in the other bartender for the night. “Shit. I liked her. Maybe… I wonder if we should look for a big, bouncer kind of guy,” he muses. Might be good to have more muscle around.”

“It’s a good idea,” she agrees. “You can’t be the muscle all the time.” That’s a strange thought, because it’s always been him.

The rest of the evening passes relatively smoothly; he suffers fewer periods of dissociation, and leaves before midnight as the crowd begins to lessen, feeling spent… but all right. He’s managing.

…

Johnny waited up for him in their bedroom, setting down his tablet to watch him shower and get ready for bed. His gaze follows Daniel’s every step with interest; Daniel smirks back at him and blushes, anticipating what’s to come - because, no matter how tired he is, he’s never too tired for this.

“We’re getting up early, right?” he calls over.

Johnny looks at him in mild surprise. “You’re ready?”

He shrugs. “I’ll pace myself. Time to get back into the routine.”

His boyfriend shrugs too. “The old man will be happy to see you. I think he misses you. So have I, so hurry up and get the fuck over here.”

Daniel wastes no more time, and he’s glad when he does because Johnny surprises him by rolling him firmly onto his back and pinning his hands to the bed, lacing their fingers together. Johnny starts at their mouths, then kisses his way down Daniel’s neck, along the centerline of his chest to his stomach - Daniel giggles helplessly when Johnny takes a quick swipe at his belly button with his tongue - then beyond. In a haze of arousal, Daniel watches the top of his head, the line of his nose, as the man licks a stripe up his thigh, clearly on his way to an act they’d never tried in _quite_ this way before. Just the thought of it brings his member to turgid attention, even as he second-guesses Johnny’s willingness.

“Johnny, are you sure?”

“Quiet! Let me concentrate,” he demands, and Daniel can’t help but snort. Johnny giggles too, glancing up at him with a smirk.

Any amusement he feels is quickly replaced with a different sensation as Johnny licks his way along the underside of his shaft with a wet tongue, lapping at the sensitive bundle of nerves at the frenulum before tentatively tasting his precum. He hisses and tries to arch - but Johnny has released one of his hands and is using his forearm to firmly press his pelvis against the mattress. “Huh, it’s sweet,” he comments with surprise, then takes more of Daniel into his mouth with gentle suction and an active tongue.

“Oh shit, how do you know how-“

Johnny releases him with a wet pop and licks his lips, which are already swollen, shiny; _Jesus Christ_ , Daniel thinks. “I know what I like, and I know what you like, so-“

“Don’t stop,” Daniel moans. 

Johnny releases Daniel’s second hand and encircles the base of Daniel’s length while he works him with his mouth, curiously watching Daniel squirm and moan. “I could watch you like this all night,” Johnny promises throatily (Daniel moans, “fuck”, and closes his eyes), “hold on for me, Daniel. Make this last.”

Daniel reaches down to cradle Johnny’s cheek in his now-freed hand, then buries his fingers into his thick blond hair, careful not to pull or choke him because he’s already quite satisfied with what Johnny’s doing to him. He’s in for a shock when Johnny releases the hold he has on his pelvis and presses a wet finger against his entrance. He arches, involuntarily but successfully, and Johnny pulls his mouth off of him.

“I told you to hold on, asshole,” he scolds, and roughly pushes the finger into him. (Daniel cries out, loudly, and hopes Johnny remembered to close the door to the balcony.) “I heard there's something up here, what did you call it-“

Daniel can’t form words, because Johnny has indeed found his prostate. It’s a torturous sort of pleasure Johnny inflicts on him, slowly and teasingly working him inside and out with both mouth and hands, until he’s on the verge of falling apart. Johnny senses how close he is - because of course he knows, after nine months together the man plays his body like a violin - and withdraws.

“Beg,” he demands.

“Come on, Johnny…”

“Beg.”

“Okay. _Please._ Damn it.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he grins, and flips Daniel onto his side like there’s nothing to him. Daniel always finds it so goddamned hot when Johnny manhandles him like this, puts him right where he wants him, and this time is no different. Johnny scissors their legs together, locks Daniel’s body to his chest with an arm like cabled steel, and thrusts up into him. Daniel pushes back to meet his thrusts, making far more noise than he should at this time of night - but he can’t help it. 

“Let go, Daniel,” Johnny encourages him gruffly, his breath hot in Daniel’s ear. Soon enough, he does.

Afterwards, trembling and euphoric, Daniel rolls over to tuck his face against Johnny’s neck. Johnny cradles the back of his head in one large hand, fingers combed into his hair.

“I never want this to end,” Johnny tells him hoarsely. “What do you think about that?”

How does he answer something like that? Daniel rests the palms of both hands on Johnny’s chest, seeking once again to feel his reassuringly-strong heartbeat. “I don’t either,” he finally says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It seems like Johnny’s working up to something..._


	16. Culmination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to lock this down, hashbrown it and send it to the internet.

Sunday morning, Johnny drives them to Miyagi’s in Daniel’s truck, and he believes it’s the first time he’s been driven around in his own passenger seat. He hates that Johnny is saddled with driving him everywhere he needs to go; unfortunately for both of them, he’s prohibited from driving for another two weeks, maybe longer since the truck is a manual shift and his right side is the most affected. Oddly enough, Johnny doesn’t seem to mind shuttling him around - or if he does, he hasn’t complained.

Johnny is uncharacteristically quiet on the drive over; really, he’s been preoccupied all morning. As they pull into Miyagi’s drive, Daniel wonders if his silence is about the All Valley, less than a week away now, or if there’s something else on his mind. It could be any number of things - the business, the rebranding, the influx of medical bills Daniel refuses to show him… he resolves to ask on the drive home, because they’d agreed to work on their communication skills.

Miyagi is waiting in his backyard for them; happily, he calls out, “Daniel-san!” with his arms extended. Daniel leans over carefully to embrace the much-shorter man. Johnny follows a few paces behind and is greeted with less exuberance: “Ahh, Johnny-san.”

“Guess we know who the favorite is,” Johnny tells Daniel under his breath with a crooked smirk; Daniel shrugs uncomfortably.

Miyagi starts them off with a slow series of kata, watching Daniel carefully. “You favor these,” he indicates his own right pectorals, “the deep ones, underneath. Stretch! Stretch!” he mimes, rolling his shoulder and moving his arm in large, demonstrative circles.

“Sounds like a physical therapy day for you,” Johnny chuckles; Daniel is already sweating with the movement, so Johnny branches off into his own practice while Miyagi focuses on his boyfriend.

“So, you and Johnny have been doing some practice together, huh?” Daniel asks the old man with interest. “What’s that like? You two get along all right without me?”

Miyagi nods assertively; he’d done that thing where he rubs his hands together to warm them, much like Johnny had done with his knee at New Years, and is massaging the right side of his chest from his sternum all the way down under his armpit. It feels a little strange, and it reminds him of when he was sixteen or seventeen and Mr. Miyagi treated other minor injuries he’d suffered - many of them at the hands of Johnny and his crew, ironically enough. But this is no simple strain or bruise.

“Ouch, take it easy, that’s sore,” he complains; predictably, the old man continues as though he hadn’t heard, and, unwillingly enough, he has to admit the healing, bound-up muscle is limbering up under his sensei’s ministrations. “Okay,” he finally accedes.

“Johnny-san, good student. Good talks,” Mr. Miyagi tells him.

“Good talks? About what, good talks? What kind of talks?”

Miyagi offers an odd little smirk. “Maybe Johnny-san tell you later. Go, get us tea. Then we meditate.”

He rolls his eyes and heads for the house, rolling his shoulder, the fingers of that hand tingling. It’s interesting - in the several minutes it takes him to heat the water and measure out the tea, he watches through the kitchen window as his sensei and Johnny stretch together on the lawn, and the two men seem to be having a serious conversation. Johnny does most of the talking, and Mr. Miyagi listens, nodding soberly. As he arrays the teapot and three cups on a tray, he watches them both stand, then Johnny _bows_ , Miyagi pats him on the arm, and they embrace briefly. It has the look of a conclusion to some sort of formal discussion. _What could that be about?_

When he carries the tray out to the bench and pours the tea into the cups, he doesn’t ask, only looks at Johnny with a raised eyebrow. Johnny grins, then tamps his expression down into neutral. They meditate while the tea cools, and Daniel sets his curiosity aside - Johnny will share when he’s ready.

…

On the drive home from Miyagi’s, Daniel chickens out and doesn’t ask Johnny what has him so preoccupied, and certainly doesn’t ask about his conversation with their sensei. Instead, he tries to start a conversation about training updates across the dojos.

“So, I was thinking about your other dojos.”

“ _Our_ other dojos.”

“It sounds weird when you say it that way. I haven’t even visited your other locations. I’m helping you with some things, sure-“

“That’s not how I meant that,” he tells him, frowning. They’re at a stoplight, so Johnny turns to face him. “I meant that we’d be partners. You’d be a part of it. It would be ours. Like a… a merger.”

Daniel blinks. “Can you just… do that? Just like that? Isn’t there more to it… like someone has to approve it?”

“Who would approve it besides me? LaRusso, I own it, I don’t have, like, shareholders. I guess we haven’t made it official - a lot’s happened - but it’s what I meant.”

The light turns green, and Johnny returns his focus to driving with a frown.

When they pull into the condo parking lot, Johnny sets the parking brake, turns off the ignition, and looks at Daniel again with a question in his eyes.

“That’s what you meant?” Daniel repeats, belatedly, as though he understands now what Johnny meant; he suspects he really doesn’t. “I wasn’t sure. We didn’t really talk about the details.”

“So, what do you think?”

“Johnny, why would you want to bring a partner into your business?”

Johnny stiffens, mouth flattened to a stern line. “What the hell, LaRusso.” He snatches the keys from the ignition, gets out of the truck and slams the door behind him. 

Daniel sits for a moment, completely flummoxed, before getting out of the truck and following Johnny into the building and up the elevator.

They meet in the living room, face to face. “Can we just start this conversation fresh?” Daniel asks. “I was thinking about how to get the teachers at the other locations more… integrated, I guess. Trained up.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, and his face is soft again. “Start the conversation fresh. So let’s have a drink and sit outside.”

“A drink? Uh, ok. We have prosecco. I’ll make us a couple of mimosas.” Daniel reaches out to touch Johnny’s shoulder before going into the kitchen. It only takes him a few minutes to pour the prosecco and orange juice into glasses and carry them outside. He hands Johnny one of the glasses, then takes a good draught from his own.

They sit and look out at the ocean for a few minutes of silence. He notices Johnny is holding his glass tightly enough to turn his fingers white, and the man is swallowing nervously, throat working and jaw tensed - and he can’t imagine what the big deal is. It’s just dojo business… unless Johnny is having second thoughts?

“So,” Johnny finally starts, “I guess I wasn’t clear a couple of weeks ago. And maybe that’s okay, because I don’t think I said it right. I meant it, though. But it’s not just about the business. It’s not really about the business at all.” He drinks half of his mimosa in one go. 

Daniel raises an eyebrow. “Now I really don’t understand.”

“I want to make it official. Us. Our relationship.”

“We’re already official. Exclusive. We live together. You met my mother.”

“Jesus, LaRusso. Listen. You know, when you were in the ICU, I had to fill out this form. It asked for relationship to patient. Like immediate family, parent, spouse, friend, other. I picked ‘other’ and lied. I wrote ‘partner’, and I had no idea if they’d actually give me updates on your condition or let me see you. Do you have any clue what that was like?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “Your insurance is shit, you know, I see the bills. But it’s not just about the insurance. Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time already?”

Daniel’s finally figuring out what Johnny’s trying to say, and his mouth drops open in shock. “Are you proposing?”

Johnny throws his hands into the air dramatically and stares up at the sky. “What the fuck did you think I was doing?”

“Well, usually there’s an actual question involved, like ‘Will you marry me?’, or ‘Will you spend the rest of your life with me?’, something like that, not that I have a ton of experience in this area.” He’s rambling now, the words just tumbling out of his brain through his mouth, and he feels a little bit like he’s on the verge of a panic attack, so he forces himself to stop and take deep, meditative breaths. If he’s not mistaken, Johnny is also taking deep, meditative breaths, adding yet another strange dimension to this already-strange conversation.

Johnny takes one last, shuddering inhale, mutters a “fine” under his breath, stands up, and gets down on one knee. Daniel freezes. 

“LaRusso. Daniel. I didn’t buy a ring because I don’t know how this gay engagement shit works,” (Daniel snorts helplessly), “and I don’t know your ring size or whatever, but listen. Let’s not wait any longer. Let’s get married. Goddamnit, are you laughing?”

He is. He’s laughing uncontrollably, and he puts a hand on Johnny’s shoulder to forestall whatever reaction his boyfriend is about to work himself up to. 

“‘Gay engagement shit’? - Jesus Christ, Johnny - okay,” he finally stops laughing enough to string a sentence together. “Yes. I'm saying yes. Let’s get engaged. I don’t really know how the ring thing would work either, I guess we can google it?”

It’s clear from the expression on Johnny’s face that he didn’t expect this to go so well. “But I have a condition,” Johnny adds.

“A _what_? You don’t propose _conditionally_. What the fuck? Don’t they teach you this shit at the country club?” Daniel is flabbergasted all over again.

Johnny ignores the dig. “I’m getting you a ring because I want you to wear it. I don’t want a ring, though. I want something else instead.”

“You want something else instead,” Daniel repeats dumbly.

“I want you to let me fix your-“

“Goddamnit, not the knee again. Don’t say ‘knee’.”

“-knee. I found a guy and everything. The recovery isn’t bad, it’s laparoscopic. We can do it right after the All Valley.”

“You know this is ridiculous. It’s not your-“

“It’s not about fault!” Johnny explodes. “It’s not a… a guilt thing. I want this for you. Ok?”

Daniel sits silently for a minute, thinking it through. “Look at us,” he finally says. “We’re actually communicating, and we didn’t have to fight or fuck to do it.”

“That’s a hell of a thing to say,” Johnny says, but he looks thoughtful, maybe even pleased. “So, is it a deal?”

Daniel gets out of his chair and sinks to a knee, bringing them eye to eye. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

…

…

Daniel feels very self-conscious in his gi at the All-Valley. This is only the second time he’s worn it, and the first time since everything else happened, and, studying himself in the locker room’s big mirror, he’s conscious of its exposure of two angry, pink scars high on his chest - one stab, the other surgical - to anyone who cares to look, including their students. Wearing a t-shirt underneath the gi is not traditionally acceptable, and while he thought he’d resigned himself to this, even accepted it, now he’s questioning the wisdom of this whole thing.

Johnny had tried to persuade him not to come, and when that didn’t work, had demanded, argued, and begged, before finally throwing up his hands in defeat. Daniel wonders, and not for the first time, if Johnny hadn’t been right all along - and yet, he feels compelled to be there, to stand guard over their students and ensure Aisha gets her chance to compete.

Johnny approaches and stands next to him wearing the same gi, down to the intertwined bonsai and cobra, and studies him worriedly in the mirror. “I know what you’re thinking,” he starts, “and I promise it’s not bad. You’re not going to scare anyone out of the room.”

Simple vanity is part of it, Daniel acknowledges; the other part is the memory of the old Cobra Kai, and Terry, and his long estrangement from Miyagi, written indelibly on his flesh for anyone to read. The thought forces his gorge to rise; he rushes to a bathroom stall to vomit his breakfast.

Johnny follows him, of course, and rubs his back without so much as an ‘I told you so’ until he’s finished.

“I’ll be okay,” he states afterwards, more firmly than he feels, rinsing out his mouth in the sink.

“We’d better go,” Johnny prompts, eyes flitting to his watch. “It’s almost time to get them lined up - remember the grand team entrance.”

It’s been over thirty years, but he remembers. “All right,” he agrees.

Their little crew of five is already together in the hallway outside the auditorium, waiting anxiously for the tournament’s opening ceremonies to kick off. With them, a surprise: their sixth, Hawk, stands with the group in his street clothes. “Just here to watch,” he explains himself to Daniel with a sidelong glance at Johnny. Aisha rolls her eyes, though her facial expression remains neutral, and the four boys grin.

Daniel claps him lightly on the back. “Good to see you, kid. You’re welcome back at the dojo anytime you’re ready.”

“Maybe,” the kid says noncommittally, but Daniel can see he’s at least thinking about it. Johnny gives him a little frown when no one else is looking; Daniel shrugs back, thinking about what Mr. Miyagi told him once: _“For person with no forgiveness in heart, living even worse punishment than death."_

Finally, an official stalks into the hallway from the main auditorium to make the brusque announcement. “Teams line up! You know the order! Wait until your team name is called!” There are several teams waiting, and at the announcement, each coalesces into a line, and the assembled whole buzzes with frantic, nervous energy. The tension is contagious; Daniel feels it from head to toe. 

Their entrance is something of a blur; Cobra Kai is the second team called in, and the energy in the auditorium itself is high, the roar oppressive. Daniel gets that same out-of-body, dissociated feeling he’d had his first Saturday night back at work - the lights are too bright, his ears are ringing and his breath is shallow - but he holds it together, bringing up the rear of their little procession with Johnny at the head. Something is different in the auditorium, and it takes him a moment to focus enough to figure it out - the mats have been changed out from red to blue. It’s a strange detail to notice, but it’s enough to ground him to the present and allow him to notice other details, like the enormous digital leaderboard, the speakers’ podium, and the big banners highlighting previous years’ winners. And, Jesus Christ, there _he_ is on one of the banners, larger than life, looking barely out of puberty and poised to deliver that final crane kick to Johnny’s face. Next to that, the previous year’s banner shows a victorious Johnny holding his first-place trophy aloft with a triumphant grin.

Unbelievable. Why did he return? He never wanted to be here in the first place, not in ‘84 and certainly not in ‘85. Both years, he would have given anything he had not to step into that arena.

They’ve reached their staging area, finally, and he has the presence of mind to look down the line at the faces of their little team. Regardless of how he felt about it in the mid-eighties, their kids obviously feel differently. There’s nervousness, sure, even apprehension, but there is also excitement, pride, eagerness. Aisha is glowing; Jake is bouncing on his toes; even Bert grins and looks around with interest. Their experience was never like his.

Johnny catches his eye, briefly, and nods. He nods back, his face composed - and Johnny winks back at him. The tension broken, he quirks back a smile. He’s going to be okay. _They’re_ going to be okay.

More teams are announced, filtering in one by one, none of the teams’ or coaches’ names familiar to him; now, he’s waiting to hear what they say about the event sponsor and the keynote speaker - it was originally Terry Silver, so what happens now? And why the fuck didn’t he ask about that earlier? Johnny probably knows who it is.

Recorded music suddenly plays over the intercom system, the lights dim, and a dumpy-looking fellow in a suit strides up to the speaker’s podium set up on the award stage. Was there this much fanfare and ceremony thirty years ago? He doesn’t remember it that way.

He’s jostled at the elbow, startles, and realizes Johnny has taken advantage of the dimmed lighting to cross over, behind the team, and stand beside him. They press their shoulders together, and Daniel thumbs the slender platinum band on his left ring finger. Johnny is wearing an identical band - they’d decided they would both wear engagement rings, and the memory of the lovemaking that followed their private exchange of rings makes Daniel blush a deep red even now, three days later. They look at each other and grin.

The man in the suit starts speaking, welcoming all to the 2018 All Valley Karate Tournament; his voice drones along in the background while Daniel leans over to whisper to Johnny: “Do you know what they did about the sponsor thing?” He shrugs, whispers back: “Dunno. Heard they found another sponsor at the last minute, didn’t ask who.”

Now the guy is making some announcements about the vendors in the lobby, the emergency exits, a request to please use the recycling bins, something about an illegally-parked car, and then he’s announcing some of the local luminaries who are in attendance. Daniel, never the most patient guy, fidgets as they call out to a local newscaster, a sports radio talk show host, a deputy mayor… and then they start talking about past tournament winners. Daniel groans; Johnny snickers.

“There have been only two multi-year winners in the history of this tournament, folks, and those gentlemen are both here tonight! Coaching for the same team! Can you believe that? John Lawrence and Daniel LaRusso with Cobra Kai!”

“Oh, fuck,” Daniel grouses, but he waves dutifully enough when one of the house lights shines on them both; another shines on their banners. “You asshole. You knew about this.”

Johnny waves more enthusiastically, quite literally reveling in the spotlight. “They do it every year, jackass. Just smile and wave.”

When the light moves away from them and towards Topanga Karate’s coach, Darryl Vidal, the 1981 winner, Daniel elbows Johnny viciously in the ribs.

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, LaRusso,” he whisper-scolds while he and Darryl bow to each other across the mat; next to Daniel, Kev snickers, and Daniel rolls his eyes.

“And now, let’s hear from our sponsor! Folks, let’s give a warm Valley welcome to our 2018 tournament sponsor, Norouzi Auto Group! Here to say a word, owner and general manager Amanda Norouzi!”

Daniel feels the blood drain from his face. Mortified, he stares at his ex-wife as she steps up to the podium, and, of course, she’s perfectly poised, smoothly coiffed, expensively dressed and tastefully accessorized. He also knows her tells; she’s rattled, and she’d snuck a surreptitious glance at him from the podium. He gives her a tiny, abashed wave. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, “if you knew about this and didn’t warn me…”

Johnny is staring at her, just as shocked as he is. “Damn, LaRusso, you sure pulled some hot chicks.” 

Kev snickers again.

…

It’s a relief when the introductory talking heads are finished and the tournament itself begins. He and Johnny divide and conquer, but only after Johnny pulls him aside. “Are you okay? For real, LaRusso.” He’d grabbed his wrist, and as he asks, he runs his thumb across the back of Daniel’s hand; this little touch sends a rush of warmth through him.

Daniel dimples back at him. “Lawrence, I’m fine, really. It’s no deathmatch.”

Johnny delivers a warning glare before he leads Jake to his first match. Daniel does the same with Kev; both boys win. Bert, however, doesn’t make it past the first round; really, Daniel thinks, he was too young and too small to be here this year. Thankfully, the kid takes his loss in stride, and cheerfully encourages his teammates through their matches.

Aisha’s having some trouble, more nervous than Daniel has ever seen her even as she performs technically well in the first two matchups. She’s unfocused, hesitant, and finally Daniel calls time and pulls her aside.

“Talk to me,” he says, only that, and she tears up. “Okay, Aisha, there’s no crying in karate, don’t make Sensei Lawrence come over here and kick your ass.” 

That one earns him a snicker and, finally, some eye contact. “I’m scared,” she admits. “I watched some of the old matches on youtube. Some of them were pretty bad, and now I keep thinking about getting hurt, and I freeze up.”

He doesn’t have the heart to ask if any of them were his; if he’s lucky, they were too old to make it to the internet. “I understand that feeling. You can’t let fear take over. If you do, you lose to the fear every time, and you won’t have any chance against the other guy, no matter how skilled you are. Right?”

She agrees with a silent nod.

“So take a deep breath with me,” she does, “another one, and focus. Just like practice, nothing to it.”

“Ok, I’m good, sensei.” She doesn’t look exactly 100%, but her eyes are clear and she sounds determined.

“Brave girl. Get in there.”

She wins that round 3-1, earning her a spot in the semifinal round. Depending on the outcome of a match at the other side of the auditorium, she’ll either be going up against some kid from Locust Valley, or Jake. The final, he knows, will be one of those three against last year’s winner, Xander Stone from Topanga Karate. 

It feels good to have two contenders get this far, he thinks, irrespective of the old Cobra Kai name.

...

The final match - that’s when Daniel’s nerves really kick in. The other mats are cleared away and most of the surrounding lights are dimmed, leaving only the center mat in bright illumination. This is the arena Daniel remembers, all spectators’ eyes focused on one fight, the roar of the crowd targeting just one pair of contenders.

His memory for these fights is detailed, nearly photographic, and sometimes that’s useful; other times, it’s a curse. While he waits with Aisha for start time, his mind decides to replay an unwelcome memory of his fight with Mike Barnes. He again experiences the sharp smell of their sweat; the feel of the damp rubber mat against the soles of his feet; the fear as Mike comes at him, over and over; the glare of the lights and the sound of Terry screaming at him from the sidelines. 

He sways and struggles to stay upright as his vision blurs. Unconsciously, he rests a protective hand over the scars on his chest, and the feel of the uneven skin under his fingers grounds him to reality again. He has to pull himself together; he won’t fall apart, not here. 

Across the ring, Johnny’s talking with Darryl, the Topanga sensei whose student, Xander, is Aisha’s opponent for this match. Darryl’s from the old days too, but he didn’t learn under a sensei with a reputation like Kreese’s or Terry’s, and Johnny seems to think he’s an alright guy running a rule-abiding school. There are no bad actors here, no insane vendettas or obscene thirsts for victory. _Jesus, LaRusso, get it together._

Maybe if he sits. He looks for a chair, sees one, but before he can retrieve it, a light hand lands on his shoulder. Not expecting it, he flinches, turns, and finds himself face to face with Amanda.

She looks good; eight years his junior, she has a glow that attests to hydration, exercise, and regular use of sunscreen, and she was always a beautiful woman with her large, sea-green eyes and generous mouth. She’s also observant; she’s spotted the ring, and the scars, and she almost certainly can tell he’s fighting panic, right then and there. Amanda always knew him just a little too well.

“Amanda,” he starts, “you look great. I was surprised to see you here.” A valiant attempt, he thinks, at a casual conversation.

“What are you doing here?” she demands sharply. “What happened to you?”

“Direct as always,” he replies; he has no intention of going into the details with her when they haven’t spoken for more than eight years. 

On the other side of the mat, Johnny has just noticed who he’s talking to; out of Amanda’s line of sight, he raises an enquiring eyebrow. Daniel replies with an infinitesimal shake of his head; Johnny responds with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes, at which Daniel quirks a corner of his mouth.

“What is this?” she asks pointedly, and touches a finger to the base of his neck.

He backs away a half-step to break the contact. “Long story,” he defers. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Johnny making his way to them, rapidly. “Oh, let me introduce you,” Daniel continues. “John-“

“-Lawrence,” she completes the introduction as the man himself arrives, extending her hand to him. “Amanda Norouzi.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” he says as he shakes her hand - she raises an eyebrow theatrically at his use of ‘finally’ - “and thanks for sponsoring our tournament here! Great for the kids! Contributes to the community! Love your dealerships, bought my Audi there.”

“Well, how nice! Thank you for your business, Mr. Lawrence.” She’s grinning predatorily. “I was just telling Daniel how surprised I am to see him here. He and karate have a history, you know.”

“Yeah, isn’t it great he’s back into it?” Johnny replies lightly. “Aisha is our student, and she’s about to start her match, so-“

“I mean, the drinking, the PTSD, whatever that is,” she says to Daniel while indicating his chest, “it can’t be good for you. I’m just concerned for you.”

Something in her tone irks him - maybe it’s the haughty condescension. “Didn’t ask for your input. We’re done here. Nice to see you.”

She hesitates, sighs. “I’m sorry. Old habit, I guess. You look great, happy. I really did come over just to say hello. I didn’t know you remarried, congratulations.” She glances down at the ring.

“Just got engaged,” he corrects, then wonders why he bothered to clarify at all.

“Well, congratulations again! She must be here, will I meet her?” Amanda looks around him curiously.

He grins at Johnny, who grins back and grabs him by the shoulders for an enthusiastic side-hug. “You just met him,” Johnny announces.

Amanda’s face blanches and her eyes grow huge; she looks them both up and down, then her eyes narrow. “You’re putting me on. If you won’t have a civil conversation, you could have just said so. _Very_ mature, Daniel.” She turns on her well-appointed heels and walks away.

“She seems nice,” Johnny comments drily, his arm still around Daniel’s shoulders.

“I know how she comes off, but she’s all right. Just didn’t work out. Did you really buy the Audi at one of the Norouzi dealerships?”

“No, I lied.”

He can only laugh. “Schmoozing asshole.”

“Learned that at the country club,” his fiancé laughs back. “Come on, it really is match time. Let’s get her pumped.”

Five minutes later, Aisha steps up onto the mat with confidence, face to face with the Xander kid from Topanga Karate, and the two competitors bow to each other. Daniel looks across the mat at the other sensei, Darryl, who nods respectfully to him. He nods back and realizes - he’s going to be okay.


End file.
